


Zombie

by dimerization



Series: And What Shoulder, & What Art [1]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Canonical Child Abuse, F/F, F/M, Gen, Mass Effect 2, Ongoing Trauma, Past Child Sexual Abuse (Jack's backstory), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-02 03:03:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4043371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dimerization/pseuds/dimerization
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Resurrected by Cerberus after a painful death, Cmdr. Shepard is struggling to cope with the terrifying reality that her body was implanted, manipulated, and enhanced without her knowledge or consent.  Trapped, unable to return to the Alliance, and wholly at the Illusive Man's mercy, she must do her best to complete her mission for the good of humanity, despite the PTSD resulting from her death over Alchera and the subsequent Lazarus Project.  Out of all her crew, Garrus is the only person she's willing to trust, the only one she doesn't need to put on a brave face for.  Together they have to find some way to stop the Collectors and deal with Cerberus without being crushed under the Illusive Man's thumb.  But his power over them is even greater than anyone on the SR2 realizes...</p><p>Fic spanning the length of Mass Effect 2.  Slow build romance between Shepard and Garrus that grows out of their friendship and mutual trust and respect.  I've never been satisfied with Shepard's reasons for staying with Cerberus in ME2; her decision making has always seemed a little too much like a plot convenience to me.  So here, I'm giving the Illusive Man a real leash to put her on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lazarus

**Author's Note:**

> Putting this up because having two publicly available, unfinished fics is so much more FUN than leaving the subscribers hanging for months on just ONE... Hope you guys enjoy. This one is gonna be a wild ride, hopefully for you too, and not just, like, for me.
> 
> NB: If a chapter contains any actual depictions of child abuse, I'll put a note at the top to warn readers so you can skip it if you want to.

_Death is an old friend by now. So is pain. They've spent a lot of time together lately. But consciousness is an enemy she hasn't faced in a long, long time. Shepard paddles weakly, limbs numb and leaden in the icy water, a fly in crystal-clear amber that burns infinite and black. And then... something. A star, maybe. A moon? She isn't sure. But the light comes from somewhere, pale gray and growing steadily brighter. Shepard looks up and sees ripples. She is rising to the surface._

 

* * *

 

“Dammit, Wilson, she's waking up!”

“But that's not supposed to _happen_ yet.” The doctor stood at Miranda's elbow, fluttering.

“Shut up. Sedate her!” He was usually smarter than this, she thought. Maybe he was just rotten under pressure. Pathetic, really. On the table, Shepard stirred. Shit.

“It's not working!” Wilson's voice had a hysterical edge to it.

“Increase the goddamned dose then!” Miranda turned back to her project. The Commander was still weak and bloody, her face and torso a maze of staples, tape, and open wounds after the latest round of implant replacements. She was as bad a patient dead as alive, Miranda thought. Constantly rejecting her implants and synthetic organs, reacting badly to drugs, refusing to assimilate nutrients, and now metabolizing her sedatives too quickly and waking up, of all things. People had used to talk about Shepard as some unkillable legend, a mythic figure destroying the geth in a single stroke. For an immortal colossus, she certainly displayed a remarkable will to die. Her eyes flickered open.

“Brain activity's off the charts! Heart rate rising! Shit, she's gonna stroke – ”

_“Put her under!”_ Miranda snarled, then bent over the supine Shepard, who wheezed and struggled, managing to lift an arm off the table and catching at Miranda's collar. Well, at least they knew the neural grafts to her hand were working. The Commander's eyes were wild with pain and fear, and her mouth twisted as she struggled to speak through the drugs pinning her to the operating table.

“Shepard, don't try to move. Lie still. Try to stay calm,” Miranda instructed, pressing her patient's trembling arms down by her sides. Shepard fought her, but she didn't have the strength to offer any real resistance. Her eyelids fluttered; her chest heaved.

“Got it. Respiration dropping. Heart rate returning to normal...” Wilson sounded shaken. Miranda watched Shepard's eyes roll up in her head as she slipped back into unconsciousness. Only when she was certain the Commander was completely under did she step back.

“All right, Wilson. I don't know what the _fuck_ you did, or how, but I'm going to find out. And in the meantime you had better make sure it _never happens again.”_ The Chief of Medical quailed under Miranda's glare.

“Yes ma'am.”

“It's like you're _trying_ to kill her.”

“No ma'am. Her metabolism – the biotics, and the liver – ”

“Spare me your excuses. Get Chang in here to monitor her. I want you looking through the logs to find your mistake.” Wilson flinched. “ _Now_ , Doctor!” He fled. Miranda crossed her arms, fury humming under her skin. Lazarus was so close. Wilson's fuckup – well, it had nearly cost them the project, but they had had consciousness, _contact._ They'd have Shepard up and working before the end of the year if some other idiot on the team didn't kill her by accident first. Miranda's job at this point was making sure that didn't happen. They needed the Commander too badly and had come too far to let her slip through their fingers now. You're our only hope, Shepard, she thought. And you're damn well going to deliver, if I have to personally drag you every step of the way.

 

* * *

 

 

Someone was yelling at her. It was loud, too loud; it hurt. She reached out to pull the pillow over her head and found only cold metal under her palm. This wasn't her bed. What... where... She thrashed. Her cheek stung where it pressed against the slab she lay on.

“Shepard, get up! You _have_ to get up.” No, she thought. She was dead. It was done. She clung to the knowledge of her nonexistence, trickling down to her without proof or context. They couldn't make her, she was dead, it was someone else's turn now.

“This facility is under attack! _Shepard!”_ They weren't going to stop shouting. Fucking hell. She forced her eyes open.

She was alone in a small med bay – no, a lab. White tiled floor, machined ceramic walls and ceiling. No windows. The lock holo on the door glowed red. It looked like a prefab, or a space station. Dimly, she wondered if this was hell. Her head ached; her face burned as she blinked and squinted. Slowly, she pushed herself up into a sitting position. She was sore, and fine lines of pain traced their way down her body as she moved.

“What the fuck,” Shepard rasped.

“Good, you're up. The facility is under attack by mechs. There's armor and a pistol in the locker behind you – suit up, Commander. They're coming!”

“Where the hell am I?” Shepard demanded. But the comm was dead; the strange woman did not respond. “Fuck!” She staggered to her feet. The fuzziness in her head was clearing rapidly, which wasn't doing much for the sharp pains that wormed their way under her skin. “Fucking hell.” She turned, leaning on the low metal table that had served as her bed. Sure enough, there was a locker on the rear wall. She headed for it, supporting herself on the slab until her knees steadied under her.

The locker opened with a hiss at her touch. The armor inside was black, patterned in white and gold, with a gray and gold undersuit folded up inside the helmet. A pistol and holster hung from a hook in the back. More immediately interesting were the water packs wedged into one corner. Shepard ripped one open with her teeth and guzzled its contents greedily, ignoring the wetness that dribbled down her face and onto her chest. The second pack slaked her thirst. She dropped the empty wrappers on the ground and looked down at herself, reaching for the undersuit.

She wore only a hospital gown. There were angry red lines running down her thighs and calves, wrapping around her ankles; one started between her toes and continued up past her knee, disappearing under the skirt of the gown. Shepard froze. Those wounds weren't hers. She ripped frantically at the ties on the gown, heedless of her stinging skin as she tore the garment off. Standing naked on the cold tile, Shepard choked. The scars wrapped around her, neck to toes – a long, irregular mark swept down her shoulder to curl around one wrist; red lines sliced through several of her fingers at the second knuckle; her torso was a labyrinth painted in jagged red. Fingers pressed against her face revealed more cuts, crazing her cheeks and forehead with who knew what unholy patterns. Following the marks up and out, Shepard discovered that, to add insult to injury, her head had been shaved.

“What the fuck – what the _fuck – ”_ She snatched at the memories that flickered tantalizingly in the corner of her eye. The Normandy. Recon mission, Alchera, lost ship – _lost ship._ The dreadnought attack. The void. Her people. Joker, Liara. Oh god, _Liara._ Shepard braced herself against the locker, breathing in huge, panicked gasps. She had been spaced – _spaced!_ How was it possible that she was still alive? She could remember spinning in the dark, dizzy and disoriented as the vacuum sucked all the O  2  from her suit. She had died. She had _died._ Had Liara made it off the ship? Had Joker survived? Was Kaidan still alive? Garrus? Wrex? Her crew? How could she even _be_ here – and where _was_ she now? And who – _who was holding her?_

Shepard ground her teeth, the sound cutting through the clamor in her head. Standing around naked in a cold lab and surrendering to panic would get her nowhere. She was alive, apparently anyway, unless this really _was_ hell, in which case none of her questions mattered. What had that woman said? The facility was under attack? Shit. She had better do as she was told then, and suit up. Shepard picked up the undersuit and shook it out.

Black and gold embroidery on the right breast. A logo... She could remember pain. Drugged pain, weak, heavy, crushing her down onto – it had been in this room, she realized. A dark-haired woman with a smug face and cold eyes snapping orders at someone standing at the bank of machines at the foot of the table. _Shepard, don't try to move, lie still, try to stay calm._ Someone – the woman – pinning her down. Then darkness again. Shepard clenched her jaw and yanked the undersuit on, one leg at a time. She didn't recognize this horned hexagon bullshit. No matter: just another thing to find out as soon as possible.

The armor had a red N stripe down the right arm. It was also stamped with the hexagonal logo. Bizarre – the Ns were an Alliance program. But the equipment was N7 issue, for all the logo matched no Alliance or merc heraldry she'd ever seen. Shepard powered up the hardsuit, relaxing a little as the onboard medical VI hummed to life and the kinetic barrier fizzed to full power around her. The pistol was empty, no clips even, but... Shepard clenched a fist and felt a reassuring surge of biotic energy down her arm. Scars or no, she still had her superpowers. She threw off the mass effect field, meaning to knock a crate across the lab. The heavy-duty biohazard canister atomized in the resulting blast.

Shepard staggered back against the wall, eyes huge, heart pounding. But I don't _have_ that kind of power, she thought wildly. She ripped off her helmet and yanked her amp out of its port. This was... it was... it wasn't her amp. It too bore the strange hexagonal device.

“What the fuck did they do to me,” she grated.

“Shepard! What are you doing? You can't stay there! You'll be overrun by mechs any minute. You have to get moving!”

“Who the fuck are you? What the fuck – ”

“There's no time, Commander. You have to get out of there, _now!”_

“Fuck off!”

“I am _not_ letting you die now, Shepard. Get out of there. Run!” Shepard stood, amp clenched in one fist, helmet in the other, as the door hissed open. It revealed an empty hallway – more white ceramic, metal railings. Still no windows. Underground base? Asteroid facility? The sound of gunfire yanked her focus back to her immediate situation. The air smelled of ozone and cooked meat. That bitch on the comms was right – this was a bad place to be. Cursing silently, Shepard shoved the amp back into her port and yanked on her helmet, the HUD winking to life under her visor as it connected with the rest of her hardsuit. Default interface, missing data she wanted; if she was going to be stuck with this armor, she'd need to reconfigure it. But there was no time to worry about that now. Once again, Shepard found herself following the stranger's orders. This time, she ran.

 

* * *

 

The mechs were goddamn everywhere. They weren't too smart, but there were a hell of a lot of them. And they had the superior position – again. She leaned out of cover just long enough to knock another LOKI unit off its feet. Hahne-Kedar crap, she thought, blowing its head off as it struggled to rise. They were new models, but between the logo and her HUD she had all the information she needed. But there were three more behind it; only one even stumbled when the downed mech blew. For the hundredth time since leaving the lab, she wished for an omni-tool. She'd never been the dab hand with tech disruption that Garrus and Kaidan were, nor had she any ambitions of approaching Tali's skills, which bordered on magic powers as far as she was concerned, but even overheating the mechs' weapons for a moment would have been a blessing. A handgun was not the ideal weapon for taking out kinetic barriers.

The LOKI units arrayed themselves around the stairs, fortifying their position. Shepard picked her shots, muttering curses into her helmet. A barrier down here – she gestured, flinging a warp field from her fingertips with a grunt. The mech's torso shattered on impact, its limbs tumbling to the ground with a clatter. She dropped back into cover, panting a little. She couldn't understand this new level of biotic power – her body shouldn't have been able to sustain it, no matter what they'd done with her amp. But she'd been cutting swathes through the facility's security system for the better part of an hour now and she hadn't even worked up an appetite. It frightened her as much as the scars.

Rounds whined off her shields, forcing her attention back to the moment. Getting distracted during a firefight, Shepard – that's great, just fucking great, she thought. Pull yourself together, Commander. Shepard forced the terrible snarl of questions into the back of her mind. The mechs were closing on her position. Fuck. She was out of time.

Shepard jerked one shoulder, her barrier snapping into place around her, better than a hug with enemies bearing down on you. She rose and began to fire, taking out one shield, then the other. Bullets slammed though her shield and vaporized against her barrier, but the mechs were close enough that she felt the impacts on her chest and hip. Shepard ignored the blows, using her biotics to knock one LOKI unit back to the stairs before taking the shooting arm off its mate with a single shot. At least she still had her aim. She lobbed another mass effect field, slamming the downed mech into the railing. One more shot and both units were on the floor, smoking. Shepard made for the stairs.

The door opened as she was reaching for the lock holo. Shepard was still bringing up her gun when the FENRIS unit slammed into her chest. The dog must have weighed 35 kilos at least, with god knew how much power in its spring besides. She went down hard, the mech slicing through her shields with a blast of electricity. Oh _no_ you _fucking_ don't, she thought, clenching her fists, and blasted it with her biotics. Shepard just wanted the damn thing off her, and she succeeded admirably. The mass effect field she released flung the unit down the hall and kept right on going, ripping through the cluster of LOKI units on its heels. She didn't have time to gape. Rolling to her knees, Shepard took out the dog's power cells and slid into cover, leaning around the doorway to shoot at the bipedal mechs as they regrouped and made their way toward her.

She wondered if she could reproduce the shockwave. Fighting for one's life was hardly the time to experiment; on the other hand, it seemed like nothing she did with a mass effect field could fail today. She _threw_ the dark energy at them, skipping it on the floor like a rock over water. Kinetic barriers already weakened, the mechs scattered like bowling pins. Shepard leaned out of cover, dispatching one of the machines, then another; the last one standing fired at her, moving steadily forward. A bullet slammed into her shoulder, sending her staggering back. Shepard cursed, switching her gun to her bad hand and blasting the LOKI with a warp field. She could feel blood pooling in her hardsuit.

“Getting fucking cocky,” she snarled. Her HUD blinked alerts at her: suit penetration, no medi-gel available – as if she needed reminding. “This shit better stop bleeding fast.” She flexed her hand experimentally, then her arm. Her shoulder was out of commission, but it was just a flesh wound. Damned inconvenient though. There was a gouge in the pauldron where the bullet had grazed it before penetrating the undersuit, making a black slash through her red N stripe. “Figures.” She clamped her left hand over the wound, holding her pistol ready by her hip, and kept going.

“Where's that bitch?” she muttered. The comms had been silent for awhile, her self-proclaimed ally cut off midsentence by a rattle of gunfire. Shepard didn't care about the strange woman's welfare, but she would like to get the hell out of this – whatever it was – before she died of starvation. A person couldn't live off roast mech.

The whine and clatter of bullets grew steadily louder as she approached the end of the hall. Maybe there was an actual human on the other side of that door, she thought. Her chatty friend? Shepard hoped so. She wanted answers. She slapped the lock holo open and stepped into cover.

The door opened with a hiss and for a moment, her heart leapt. A broad-shouldered man with dark, close-cropped hair crouched behind the railing of the walkway ahead, coolly picking off his unseen attackers. When his pistol grew hot in his hand he ejected the clip and rose from cover, biotic charge glittering at his fingertips. Shepard drew breath to cry out before she saw his profile. The shout stuck in her throat. It wasn't Kaidan – no, of course not. The Lieutenant was a little leaner, and much lighter-skinned. No omni-tool flashed at this man's wrist. It had been a fool's hope that she'd meet some of her team here, of course. Wherever 'here' was. She refused to wonder if her people were still alive. There were mechs to kill.

Shepard ducked behind the balustrade and sidled toward her fellow human, the thick plateglass protecting her from the LOKI units' shots. She shouldered her barrier into place and checked her pistol – empty. She loaded her last clip with a grimace.

“Hey!” she yelled.

“Who – Shepard?” The surprise in the man's face took her aback. “I thought you were still a work in progress! How did you get here?”

“Someone woke me over the fucking comms, got me down here.”

“Miranda?”

“Who the fuck's Miranda?” Comprehension dawned in his eyes.

“What do you know?”

“Nothing! Where the fuck are we?”

“This is Lazarus Station. Research facility.”

“We're in space?”

“Yeah.”

“And who the hell are you people?”

“Look, I'd love to play twenty questions, but we've got mechs climbing out our ass. Let's deal with this, okay? Then I'll tell you whatever you want to know.” Shepard stared at him hard, but his dark eyes met hers squarely.

“Fine,” she snarled. He nodded.

It was a quick fight. The mechs were easy to pick off from cover, crowded stupidly on a balcony and firing at the plateglass that protected the humans. Shepard was impressed with the stranger's biotics, especially his trick of catching enemies in an energy field and pulling them out into the air, then dropping them two stories onto hard tile, and made a mental note to figure it out when she had time. The hexagonal logo on his collar was less promising. But once the last mech was dispatched, he gave her a nod.

“So. You have questions, Commander,” he said. “Let's sit. Anyway, shoot.” He settled himself on the floor, leaning back against the glass of the railing and digging in the pocket of his uniform, coming up with water packs and an energy bar. Shepard accepted the water with a nod, levering herself into a sitting position – slightly more challenging in a hardsuit than in his light armor.

“Who are you?” she asked, ripping her water open and taking a swig.

“Right. I guess I didn't introduce myself. Jacob Taylor.” He offered a hand, which Shepard grudgingly shook. “XO of this station. I'm just a soldier, though. Served five years in the Alliance Marine Corps. Most of my job is handling security here.” Jacob opened the energy bar and offered her half. She accepted it and ate, not particularly hungry but knowing she might be later.

“Who the fuck runs this station?” She gestured to the logo on his uniform.

“Can't tell you that, Commander.”

“Like hell you can't.”

“Sorry.” She considered hitting him, but discarded the idea immediately. She wanted to get off this station alive, if possible, and Jacob would help her with that a hell of a lot more than the mechs.

“Fine. Look. What the fuck is going on? What did you people do to me? How did I get here?” He sighed.

“Shit. All right. I'll give you the quick version. Your ship was attacked off Alchera. The Normandy was destroyed, and you were killed – dead as dead can be when they brought you in here. Our scientists spent the next two years bringing you back to life. That's what this station's all about, really: Project Lazarus. You, Commander.” Shepard stared at him blankly. Was he fucking with her? No, he looked serious, even... _sorry._ It – she couldn't digest it all. She latched onto the first question that floated through her mind.

“The ship was destroyed? What about my crew?”

“Most of them survived. A few servicemen from the lower decks didn't make it out, but all the officers and your alien specialists got out okay.” A hand unclenched around her heart. Liara was alive.

“And this Project Lazarus. What the hell was that?”

“A special initiative to get you back, Commander. I'm no scientist, but it was pretty serious. Huge budget, cutting-edge technology.”

“Like what?”

“Implants, cybernetics, you name it. I heard talk about neural grafts and synthetic organs and fuck if I know what else, a lot of long words I can't spell.” He shrugged uncomfortably. Implants, she thought, restraining herself from touching her face with an effort. Synthetic organs. That explained the scars, or some of them.

“You keep saying it was to bring me back. There weren't any other... subjects?”

“Nope. Just you.”

“And my injuries...” Jacob met her eyes squarely.

“It was bad. The first time I saw you, you were nothing but meat and tubes.” She flinched – she couldn't help it. _Meat and tubes._ His words painted an ugly picture. “I'm sorry. You've spent most of the last two years on an operating table, dead. Then in a coma. Then sedated. You got blown out of an exploding spaceship, Commander. The trauma... Anywhere else, they'd have put you in the ground.” Her mind skittered over this information, unwilling to absorb it. She crumpled up her empty water pack and threw it over the railing, watching it arc perfectly down through the glass until it was lost to view.

“Who's this Miranda?” she said at last.

“Miranda Lawson. She's the CO. My boss. She ran the Lazarus Project. I'm betting Miranda's the one who woke you up and got you moving – did you see a video feed?” Shepard shook her head.

“It was a woman on the comms, though. Didn't recognize her accent.”

“That's probably her. Australian.”

“Bitchy?” Jacob laughed a little.

“Yeah. What did she tell you to do?”

“Get the fuck up, get moving, head for the shuttles. She got cut off – didn't sound good.”

“It'll take more than a few mechs to drop Miranda. She was right though, we should head for the shuttle bay. We gotta get the hell off this station.”

“No argument here. What's going on, anyway? This attack?”

“I have no idea. One minute I was settling down for a little rack time, and the next, every goddamn mech in this place starts shooting. At us. I've been on the move ever since. Lot of dead bodies.” He shook his head. “It had to be an inside job. Nobody could have hacked our security systems like this unless they already had clearance.”

“What the hell would anyone attack this place for?” Jacob raised his eyebrows.

“To get to you, Shepard.”

“Why me? I'm just a soldier.”

“You. Cmdr. Shepard. Just a soldier.” She shrugged.

“The Alliance must have carried on without me, right?”

“Well, they sure as hell declared you KIA.”

“That's what I'm saying. What the fuck did you people want to... want me for, anyway? This is insane!” Her voice had a brittle edge to it. Shepard clamped down on her panic before she started screaming.

“I'm really not the one to ask, Commander,” Jacob said. “Look, we gotta get moving. We'll have more mechs inbound any minute now. Place is crawling with them.”

“Ain't that the goddamn truth.” He rose, offering her a hand.

“Let's roll,” he said.

 

* * *

 

 

The Chief Medical Officer reminded Shepard of nothing so much as an oversized, balding rodent.  He muttered over the shuttle bay doors, fiddling with his omni-tool.  Shepard watched in silence, arms folded; Jacob stood beside her, coolly professional, one hand on his gun.  Dr. Wilson's omni-tool pinged cheerfully.

"There, that should do it.  Now we - "  The door opened with a hiss midway through his bypass script.  

“Miranda!” Wilson yelped, leaping back in shock from the dark-haired woman who stood in the doorway. Shepard's mind went still with recognition at her cold eyes and smug mouth. “But you were – ”

_Crack._ Shepard raised her eyebrows as the squirrelly little doctor crumpled to the floor, a bullet in his throat.

“Dead?” Lawson asked his corpse.

“What the hell are you doing?” Jacob cried.

“My job,” she said flatly. “Wilson betrayed us all.”

“How the hell do you know that?” Lawson trained her glare on him.

“Who do you think trapped me in D wing behind an army of mechs?” Jacob shut up. “Shepard, you're all right. Good. Let's get to the shuttle.”

“Not so fucking fast.” Shepard folded her arms. “I want answers, and I want them now.”

“You want to stand here and bicker while mechs pile up on top of us?” Lawson snapped. Shepard cocked an ear. The shuttle bay was quiet; so was the hall behind them.

“Yeah,” she said evenly. Lawson's eyes narrowed.

“Fine.” Shepard allowed herself the smallest of smirks. It was her turn now.

“Who the hell are you people, and who do you work for?”

“That's not – ” Lawson began.

“Cerberus,” Jacob said. Shepard's gut clenched. She shouldered up her barrier, reaching for her gun. Lawson charged a fist with biotic power, but Jacob held up his hands. “I see you've heard of them, Commander.” Shepard kept her gun on Lawson, but one eye on him.

“You could say that,” she said coldly. “Ever hear of Akuze?” Lawson's face went a little stiller. Jacob looked blank.

“No.”

“Well, your CO here has. You wanna tell him about the op, Miranda, or should I?”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Don't waste my time. Your little _club_ killed my entire unit there a few years back. Another of your science projects, just like me,” Shepard spat. Jacob's eyes widened.

“Listen, Shepard, I don't know anything about that, I swear. If this was back when you were in the Marines, I was working for the Alliance at the time. Please Commander, we've got to get out of here,” he said.

“This is a waste of breath. The longer we stay here, the longer the mechs have to find us. It's time to get on the shuttle, Shepard.” Lawson did not lower her gun.

“Yeah? Why should I go anywhere with you?”

“Because I have the access codes to the last operable shuttle on this station. Go ahead and kill me if you want to stay here and starve, assuming the mechs don't get you first.”

“Shepard, Miranda, please.” Jacob came forward slowly, working his way in between them, one hand on the muzzle of each of their pistols. For a moment Shepard thought Lawson might hit him, but her face relaxed as he pushed the barrel of the Commander's gun towards the ceiling. “Let's just go, okay?” The two women glared at each other over his shoulder, slowly holstering their sidearms. Jacob held his hands up for a moment, meeting both their eyes in turn.

“Come on,” Lawson said, turning on her heel. Shepard matched her pace as she strode into the shuttle bay, chewing on the inside of her cheek. This was going to be an interesting trip.

 


	2. Freedom's Progress

The Illusive Man. _How pompous can you_ get, Shepard thought. As if it weren't enough that she'd had her ship blown up, gotten spaced, and woken up healing from a whole hell of a lot of surgery she didn't ask for on a base full of attacking mechs and a bunch of assholes she'd really have preferred to kill, now she had to go talk to the guy in charge of it all, some pathetic motherfucker narcissistic enough to cling to a name like 'Illusive Man', _and_ a mass-murderer to top it off. _Her_ mass-murderer. And a lot of other people's, too. She'd taken out enough of his ops to know how he worked. Scumbag. Shepard fingered the grip of her gun and did her best not to chew her tongue to shreds. She had medi-gel on her shoulder wound, a patch on her armor, and a full ammo belt. She would have liked nothing better than to shoot Lawson in the back of the head with her freshly loaded pistol, but it seemed like that might be hazardous to her health. As if she'd heard the thought, the woman turned, regarding Shepard with those cat-like eyes.

“It doesn't do to keep the Illusive Man waiting,” she said smugly. Shepard sneered, but she turned on her heel and headed for the stairs all the same. Christ, she thought, what a fucking bitch.

It wasn't an office. Shepard had expected as much. The Illusive Asshole was presumably too smart to stand in the same room with her. She smirked a little. He wouldn't last five seconds. But the smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Cerberus had her trapped, and they knew it. She was on another of their stations now – she'd seen the personnel in the corridors on their way in. There was no way she could make a break for it without a team, even if she'd known the layout of the station or had a way to override docking controls to get a shuttle out. Hell, she didn't even know where in the galaxy she was. If she was supposed to believe what they said – and she had no alternative, at this point – no one was looking for her. The Normandy was gone, her team dispersed, Liara god knew where; Shepard was alone. It would be too easy for Cerberus to kill her, chip her, or lock her in a cell if she proved recalcitrant. She clenched her fists. She hated nothing so much as helplessness. But here she was. She stepped onto the holopad and stood with her arms folded, mouth in a grim line.

The dark room lit up around her as the pad finished its init scan and the connection went live. Holographs sprang into being, showing her a shiny black floor, a single chair, and an immense projection of a coruscating star covering the walls, sunspots and solar flares roiling against the backdrop of outer space. A man in a suit paced back and forth, examining his holo display, the cherry of a cigarette glowing redly in his palm. Shepard kept her face neutral with an effort, but her guts boiled with incredulous disgust. Narcissist? she thought. Try 'goddamned egomaniac with delusions of godhood.' It was all she could do to keep from sneering.

“Ah, Shepard,” the Illusive Man said, turning. Yeah, right, she thought. “Glad to see you made it. How are you feeling?” Her eyes narrowed.

“What the fuck do you want with me?” He sighed.

“Very well. I need your help.”

“ _My_ help.”

“Yes, Shepard. Humanity requires your... unique talents. We face a singular threat.”

“Humanity, or you?”

“I am Cerberus, Shepard. We exist to protect mankind's interests in this galaxy. Our objective is to guard and advance humanity in any way we can.” He settled himself in his chair, picking up a glass that rested on the arm. Shepard heard ice cubes clink. Scotch. Incredible.

“Yeah, you did a hell of a lot of guarding and advancing on Akuze. Killing fifty Alliance marines for the sake of all mankind?” she snapped. The Illusive Man sighed.

“I won't pretend this organization hasn't made mistakes. I wasn't always at its head. Akuze was... not my choice.”

“You're a goddamn liar.”

“I can't force you to believe what I say about Akuze, Shepard, although I am truly sorry for the loss of your unit – ”

“Bullshit!”

“ – but I _can_ prove to you that we need your help now.”

“And why the fuck should I help you?”

“You won't be helping _me,_ you'll be helping _us._ The human race needs you!” He took a drag on his cigarette, never breaking eye contact. Shepard clenched her jaw.

“Fine, I'll bite. What for?”

“You saw the beginnings of it before the unfortunate events at Alchera. People are disappearing, Shepard. First it was ships. After the loss of the Normandy, things began to escalate. Whole colonies are disappearing now, and have been for awhile.” Her eyebrows shot up.

“Sounds like a problem for the Alliance.”

“It's been brought to the Alliance, all the way to the top. They're not doing anything about it.”

“That's crap. The Alliance is a lot of things, but they're not _complete_ idiots. If this is such a problem, Anderson – ”

“Adm. Anderson is just one man. These colonies are out in the Terminus, Shepard. Many are relatively small, and isolated. The Alliance put it down to slave raids or colony failures, assigned a team to set up a committee to write a report on whether or not to investigate further. You know how they work when they don't want to tackle a problem. But Cerberus is there, putting boots on the ground. I want you to head up our investigation, find out who's attacking human colonies – and stop them. Permanently.” His cigarette jabbed at her in the dimness. Shepard snorted.

“Do I have a choice?”

“There is always a choice, Shepard. But hear me out, please. We've received intel that another human colony has just been hit: Freedom's Progress. I need you to go there with Jacob and Miranda and look into the situation. This is the most notice we've ever had on one of these colony disappearances. I have high hopes that you'll find something significant.”

“What's so different about this one?”

“Every other attack we've looked into, the Alliance has gotten there first – or looters. We haven't been able to collect all the data we need. This time, we have the chance to get there before anyone else. If you don't find anything worth following up at Freedom's Progress, we'll part ways. But I want you to at least look into the situation there before you decide. You don't have to take everything I say on faith. I'm confident there will be proof enough planetside to satisfy you.”

“And if I say no?”

“Please, Shepard, be reasonable. I'm not your enemy here. Let's work together on this. It will be to our mutual benefit, and it's the best course of action to help humanity as a whole.” Shepard's eyes narrowed, staring the holo down. She didn't like his spin, didn't like his slipperiness – he was scum, that was plain. That 'be reasonable' spoke volumes. She wondered what threats he was hiding.

“You owe me some answers, Illusive Man.” It was all she could to do keep her lip from curling as she spoke the name.

“Shepard, I regret it very much, but time is of the essence. You've got to get to Freedom's Progress if our investigation is to proceed.”

“Fuck you.”

“I'm sorry. I promise, I'll answer all the questions you can think of when you return. You have my word on that.”

“Yeah, and it's worth so _much_ to me.”

“I hope in time you will come to see that I only want to help you, Shepard. I'd like to be your friend, if you'll let me.” Shepard laughed.

“You kidnap all your friends and force them to do your dirty work?”

“I don't see our relationship – ”

“Jesus, shut the fuck up. I'll go. And when I get back, we're gonna have a nice little chat.”

“I look forward to it. Godspeed, Commander.” She just stood there, waiting. After a breath or two, he cut the connection with a respectful little nod goodbye. Shepard stood on the pad for a moment as the lights in the room flickered on and the holographs died. She didn't like this, not at _all._ But there was no way out. Not yet. Clamping down hard on her fury, she headed for the door.

 

* * *

 

 

The warehouse was dark except for the glow of monitors and omni-tools, turning Shepard and her team to red and orange ghosts haunting the empty colony in place of its absent dead.

“I don't think we're gonna get anything else out of him, Commander,” Jacob said. Shepard was inclined to agree. The young quarian in front of them looked well beyond the end of his rope, trembling and muttering into his helmet as he twisted his hands together.

“Thank you for your help, Veetor,” she said gently. He didn't even seem to hear her.

“Right then,” said Lawson. “Let's get him – ” The door behind them opened with a whirr.

“Veetor? Vee – hostiles!” Shepard spun, startled by the familiar voice. Lawson and Jacob had their weapons out.

“Friendlies!” Shepard snapped at her team.

“Who's that?” Two quarians ducked into cover on either side of the doorway; a third came forward; the tall companion hovering at her elbow had the look of a marine, and a very large gun.

“It hasn't been that long, has it, Tali?” Shepard said quietly. The quarian stopped dead.

 _“Shepard?”_ she whispered. The Commander's face cracked into a smile. It stung, but she didn't care.

“Tali. My god, it's good to see you.” She stepped forward, reaching out to touch her former crewman's shoulder, but Tali didn't move.

“You died two years ago. How can you be here?” Shepard let her hand drop to her side.

“It's a long story. I don't know all of it.”

“What _do_ you know, then?” The suspicion in Tali's voice was painful to hear.

“It was Cerberus. They found my body after Alchera. They... brought me back.”

“That's not possible,” Tali said flatly. Shepard took a deep breath.

“I know.”

“You're wrong,” said Lawson.

“Who the hell are you?”

“I'm the one who saved Shepard's life.”

“There was nothing _to_ save. She was _dead!”_

“Not anymore,” Lawson said.

“That's crap. She's a clone, or a mech, or a VI plugged into a – ”

“No. She's Cmdr. Shepard. Go on, test it. A clone wouldn't have her memories. A VI wouldn't have her personality. You know her, Tali'Zorah. See for yourself. Your Commander is back in action.” Shepard stood stock still, trying not to hunch up. Every word from Tali had cut like a knife, raising questions it had never even occurred to her to ask. Maybe she _was_ a clone, or a computer program dressed up in the galaxy's fanciest meat suit. She clenched her teeth, waiting.

“When I first came on board the Normandy, I was... uncomfortable. Why?” Tali crossed her arms, every line of her body bespeaking skepticism. She had a new environmental suit, Shepard noticed. The delicate whorls of purple and black on her hood were lovely. She wondered what her old friend had done with the armor she'd picked out on the Citadel during their time together, all green and gray. This set was nicer.

“You were homesick,” Shepard said. “You missed the flotilla. You said the Normandy was too empty, you were used to having more people around. And you were having trouble sleeping – you said the ship ran too quiet. I offered to have someone on B-shift bang on your sleeper pod now and again just to make you feel at home. You laughed, but you said you thought you'd manage.” Tali rocked back on her heels, visibly shocked.

“Keelah,” she breathed. “It really is you.”

“Like I said,” Lawson drawled. Tali ignored her.

“Cerberus, Shepard? Why?” Shepard reached up to rub her forehead, remembering too late that she wore a helmet.

“I don't have a choice,” she said.

“There's always a choice.”

“Not for me. Not today.” Tali drew a breath, then paused.

“Veetor,” she said instead. “Are you all right?”

 

* * *

 

 

“You should have brought him with us.” Lawson's pout was tight with irritation. Shepard swung herself up into the Cerberus shuttle, not even sparing a glance for her new XO.

“What's the matter, Miranda? Deprived of your fun for the day? I'm sure the Illusive Man has a whole backlog of unfortunates awaiting your attentions; you can get your kicks tormenting somebody else on his time.” She settled herself in a seat as Lawson and Jacob boarded and the hatch slid shut. The other woman's eyes flashed.

“I had no intention of torturing the quarian. But he might have had valuable information – perhaps in a more controlled setting, we could have gotten it from him,”

“Uh-huh.” Lawson's jaw clenched.

“Whatever history you have with Cerberus, Commander, you can't allow it to jeopardize – ”

“Don't talk to me about the safety of humanity, Miranda. You're not that naïve.”

“The _mission_ is paramount, Shepard. The Collectors are _dangerous.”_

“So is Cerberus,” Shepard said coldly. “And so am I.” Under her feet, the thrusters hummed to life. The shuttle headed for the atmosphere in a rapid swoop, leaving her stomach behind for a moment.

“Information is power, Commander. The more we know, the better equipped we are to fight them.”

“And what makes you think that a mentally unstable, traumatized, delirious young quarian could have tipped that balance, Miranda?”

“Any lead – ”

“Is worth pursuing. And we did. Tali will forward us the data he collected.”

“We're supposed to take that on faith?”

“Yes.” Shepard sat back, crossing her arms. Lawson sucked on her teeth, furious. “I'm in charge here, Miranda. You said you would follow my orders. Am I your CO, or aren't I?” The other woman scowled.

“You're in command of this operation, Shepard, but I am entitled – ”

“To your opinion. And if I want it, I'll ask. Understood?” Lawson's fingers drummed on her thigh.

“Yes, Commander,” she snapped.

“All right, then.”

The silence in the cabin stretched. Lawson glared at the wall to the left of Shepard's head. Jacob looked at the floor, hands clasped, face impassive, but his shoulders were tense. Shepard surveyed the Cerberus operatives who comprised her 'team' in silence, wondering what the fuck the Illusive Idiot was playing at. Was she supposed to come into the fold at some point? If that was what he thought, he was in for a rude awakening. The Collectors were certainly a threat to humanity as a whole, but they were a sideshow compared to the Reapers, and she'd managed to deal with Sovereign despite all the Alliance bullshit and Council interference. This could be handled. She needed to get back to Council space, see Anderson, find those of her team that she could. And Liara... Two _years_ dead. It still didn't feel quite real. She _had_ to see her again. Liara could help her work through this, talk it over – she was always good at that. They could talk to Anderson together, then try to meet with the Council. Would Udina listen to her? He hated her just as much as she despised him, that much had always been obvious, but then, they didn't have to get along to get things done. Garrus and Kaidan would be tremendous assets, if she could get hold of them again. Wrex too, if he would come, but she wasn't prepared to count on that.

The shuttle engines whirred under the floor. They were in space now, heading for the Cerberus carrier that had dropped them in orbit of Freedom's Progress. The atmosphere in the cabin was tense, but Shepard didn't care. She had no intention of remaining with Cerberus. They had to pay her leash out a little at some point – the Illusive Man wouldn't be able to make any use of her if he kept her collared at his side. Presumably he meant for the illustrious Cmdr. Shepard to _command_ , which meant there was a ship heading her way. As soon as she had it, she was gone. She didn't even need to reach Alliance space – it would be simple to appeal to the Council once she was on the Citadel. The intel she'd gathered already would be enough to get people on her side. Even Udina would have to see reason. Bringing him a pair of Cerberus' best people would only sweeten the pot.

“Docking procedures initiated,” the shuttle VI said pleasantly, interrupting Shepard's reverie. Jacob sat up straight with a sigh, rolling his shoulders; Lawson's mouth tightened impatiently. “Clamps engaged. Shuttle is docked.” The hatch opened with a whirr. Shepard rose.

“Let's go.” She disembarked, not looking back to see Lawson and Jacob following.

“Commander!” Shepard paused, swinging half around on one heel. The shuttle pilot jogged up to her, a young woman in the standard Cerberus uniform. The colors gave her skin a sallow cast, dulling her light brown hair and bringing up the dark circles under her eyes.

“What is it?”

“You've got a transmission waiting.” The pilot pointed. A comm terminal stood against the wall of the shuttle bay, half-hidden behind a stack of crates.

“Fine.” Shepard dismissed her with a curt nod, striding to the terminal. She had no access codes or system ID, she thought. Cerberus was sending her personal communications without authentication now? She punched up the holo display.

“Retinal scan required for authentication,” the terminal informed her.

“Christ.” Shepard yanked off her helmet and stared into the laser beam. She had never given them a retinal print, she thought wearily. Not since she'd regained consciousness, at least. Fucking bastards. The comm went live without preamble.

“Shepard,” the Illusive Man said. “I trust your investigation was fruitful?”

“You could say that.”

“I'm glad to hear it. We'll discuss it in depth later – your terminal is not secure.” Retinal scans on a Cerberus vessel didn't constitute secure? Then again, the Illusive Asshole was probably as paranoid as he was egotistical, Shepard reflected. “In the meantime, I'd like you to head up to B deck. There's something – and some _one_ – you're going to want to see.”

“What the hell does _that_ mean?” He smiled faintly.

“Please try to trust me, Shepard. Remember, I only want to help you.” Shepard didn't bother to keep the sarcasm out of her expression. “I'll talk to you soon.” He closed the channel.

“Jackass,” Shepard muttered, heading for the elevator. She stepped inside and punched up B deck, leaning against the wall as the elevator hummed up the shaft. Someone she wanted to see, he'd said. Someone she knew, presumably. One of her old team? Shepard ran through them one by one, trying to imagine who might have gone over to Cerberus. Wrex maybe, if they were paying him enough. She shook her head. It struck her as a long shot. The doors opened with a soft chime.

“Commander! Long time no see, huh?” A familiar figure limped down the hall toward her, baseball cap askew.

 _“Joker?”_ Shepard strode forward to shake the pilot's hand.

“Hey, watch the bones! You trying to kill me, or just say hello?”

“Sorry, Lieutenant. It's just _damn_ good to see you.” Joker grinned.

“Yeah, you too, Shepard. It's not Lieutenant anymore, though.” Belatedly, she saw the Cerberus logo on his collar. She looked at him askance.

“What the hell happened?” He shook his head.

“It's a long-ass story. Come on, let's walk and talk. I'll tell you.” She fell in beside him, matching his slow, careful pace as they worked their way down the deck. A Cerberus crewman would pass them from time to time, but never spared more than a glance for the odd pair, scars and notoriety notwithstanding. “I guess the first thing you want to hear about is Alchera.” Shepard clenched her fists.

“Yes.” It was a battle to keep her voice steady, but Joker just nodded.

“We lost twenty people from belowdecks, all NCOs. Liara made it out just fine. Alenko, Wrex, and Garrus too. That dreadnought jumped to FTL right after it obliterated us – the Alliance still isn't sure what it was, as far as I know.

“But after you, well, died, it all just... fell apart. What you'd done with the Council, the Reapers, Saren, everything got swept under the rug. I guess the brass and the politicos just wanted to pretend the whole thing never happened, once you weren't around to yell at them about it anymore.

“The aliens dispersed pretty quick. Liara left for asari space, I think all the Alliance uniforms were messing with her head. Garrus just fucking disappeared one day, I have no idea what happened to him. And Wrex headed back to Tuchanka to look for another job. Alenko and I tried to cause trouble for the assholes in charge, as much as we could at our rank, anyway. But the brass just stonewalled us. He got shunted into some top-secret project, I lost touch with him after a few months. Spec Ops, I think. Above my pay grade. And then the bastards grounded me.”

“But you're one of the best pilots they have!”

“Preaching to the choir, Commander. Anyway, about six months after your funeral, these goddamn disappearances really kicked into high gear. Well, higher gear. Instead of ships, we started losing colonies. I guess you know about that.”

“All out in the Terminus Systems, they're telling me.”

“Yeah. The Alliance just wrote it off as pirate attacks or rogue pockets of geth and put it in the backlog for post-Saren mop-up. But it's been getting worse ever since. A year and a half and we've lost hundreds of thousands of colonists. It's bad, Shepard.”

“Bad enough to raise me from the goddamn dead.”

“You're telling _me._ So I was on administrative leave, and this whole clusterfuck just kept getting worse and worse – I resigned my commission. I couldn't take it. Flying's about the only thing in this stupid galaxy I care about, and if the Alliance wasn't gonna pay me to do it, I was damn well gonna find someone who would. So I took a freelance job, and then another, and then... Well. These Cerberus assholes have their fingers in a lot of pies.”

“Got picked up by a front, huh?”

“Yeah, or two. Eventually they just sat me down and tried to recruit me. Said they'd get me anyway, one way or another. 'But we'd like you to work _with_ us, Mr. Moreau,'” he mimicked. “'We need your skills for a special mission. We want to end these attacks,' blah, blah, blah.”

“They gave me a similar spiel.”

“It's their shtick I guess. But what the hell could I do? I wanted to fight back, and I needed to fly. So I said fuck it, sure. And now here I am. And here _you_ are, Commander.” Shepard shook her head.

“So they tell me.”

“What's the story with that, anyway?”

“Beats the hell out of me, Joker. I woke up on a damn space station yesterday and it's been go, go, go ever since. I hear I spent two years on an operating table or in a damn vat or something.”

“Jesus. How is it being a zombie?” Shepard clenched her jaw and counted to ten.

“I'll get back to you on that.”

“Okay, Commander,” Joker said.

“Where are we going, anyway?”

“Here.” They turned a corner, entering a long, narrow room boasting a bank of terminals opposite a massive window. Joker flipped a switch on the small control panel on the wall and limped over to the glass. He turned to Shepard. “You're not the only thing they brought back.” Behind him, floodlights flicked on one by one.

 

* * *

 

 

She had to admit, the new Normandy was gorgeous. The Tantalus drive core was a marvel of modern engineering, the expanded facilities a welcome amenity, the leather seats handsome – even the fishtank was pretty, if a ludicrous waste of space and power. Shepard was looking forward to turning Cerberus' fancy AI over to the Alliance. It was a shame she wouldn't be able to keep the vessel, she reflected. She'd be glad to get back into uniform, though. Wearing Cerberus colors irritated her. She strode toward the briefing room, adjusting the gloves that came with her coveralls. The body suit covered her scars from the neck down; she could almost pretend things were normal when she couldn't see her skin.

The doors shut with a hiss behind her as she activated the comm terminal, stepping back with a raised eyebrow as the conference table sank into the floor and the lights dimmed. Shepard stepped onto the holopad, unimpressed. The Illusive Man seemed unable to resist his little theatrics, even on _her_ ship. As if it really belonged to her at all, she thought sardonically, watching the holographs flicker to life. Everything around her was his, even the clothes on her back. And there he was, her glorious leader in the simulated flesh, smoking another cigarette with that roiling sun at his back.

“Shepard.”

“You gonna answer my questions this time?” she said flatly.

“Of course. Let's debrief first. I received the data you acquired on Freedom's Progress. It's unfortunate that you chose not to bring the quarian in for questioning.” Shepard raised her eyebrows. “However, I'm sure you had your reasons. He didn't record anything we haven't seen before, but he did confirm what we suspected – the Collectors are behind these disappearances.”

“So I didn't turn up anything new for you, then?”

“You needed to see what was happening for yourself, Shepard. Are you satisfied that they have to be stopped?”

“That much is obvious. Unlike a few other things I could name.”

“Well then. What would you like to know?” His voice was calm, even friendly. She ground her teeth.

“Project Lazarus, for a damn start. Why'd you bring me back?”

“I think you know why. These disappearances aren't the only thing the Alliance has turned its back on. It's been a long two years since Alchera. The galactic 'community', such as it is, has a short memory.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“The Reaper threat has been buried, Shepard. People talk about it like a hoax, a myth, a pipe dream.”

“And Sovereign?” The Illusive Man shrugged.

“A geth dreadnought, so the story goes.”

“That's bullshit!”

“You and I know that, but the media? The Council? The illustrious governments of this galaxy? They'd prefer to stick their heads in the sand.”

“So why are you sending me chasing around after the Collectors, when – ”

“When the Reapers are coming? This isn't just some sideshow, Shepard. You have to trust me.” She laughed harshly. “I understand your doubts, but they won't serve you here. Thousands of people have disappeared over the last two years. I don't know what to call that, if not reaping.”

“You think the attacks are connected to the Reapers somehow?”

“That's what I want you to find out.”

“And cutting me open? I want to know what the fuck you did to me.”

“That's perfectly fair. I can have more detailed information forwarded to you, and of course Operative Lawson is available to answer any questions you have; she was the lead on Project Lazarus, as I'm sure you know. But in short, we brought you back. You needed several organs replaced, extensive tissue regeneration, neural grafting, and significant cellular transfusions. You have implants to support the function of your nervous system and maintain proper blood flow throughout your body. We were also able to improve your physical durability: you may find your strength has increased, and your bones are more difficult to break. And we increased the power of your biotics, as you've doubtless noticed by now.” Shepard's eyes narrowed.

“I don't see how that's possible.”

“We brought the best minds to bear on the problem of saving you, Shepard, and saw to it they had everything they needed. Your survival is the result of two years of hard work and brilliance, with no expense spared.”

“I was quite an investment for you, wasn't I?”

“It was well worth it. You are the hero humanity needs right now. You're our last and best hope. I'm confident you'll succeed.” Shepard grunted.

“What else happened in the last two years? What about my team?” The Illusive Man took a drag on his cigarette.

“I believe Joker gave you some information on that front.” Joker was briefing the Illusive Man on their conversations now? Shepard was surprised to hear it. “Lt. Alenko is still with the Alliance. He's doing highly classified work, and we don't know his location. Your turian friend vanished after your mission; no one has been able to dig up anything on him since. The krogan returned to Tuchanka, and has since taken control of his clan. At present, he's ruling Urdnot.”

“What about Liara?” She caught the hint of a smirk on the Illusive Man's face and cursed herself for her impatience. The less he knew about her, the better. But it was too late to worry about it now.

“Dr. T'Soni lives on Illium; she's working as an information broker. Our intel suggests she may have ties to the Shadow Broker himself; if that's the case, she can't be trusted. I'd tread lightly there if I were you. Illium changes people. She may not be the woman you remember.” Shepard kept her face impassive with an effort.

“I'll be the judge of that,” she said.

“I'm only trying to help you, Shepard. Just a little friendly advice. Please, take it in the spirit it was offered.”

“Was there anything else you wanted?” Her voice was hard.

“Just one thing. If you're thinking of turning the Normandy over to the Alliance, you may want to reconsider.”

“What gave you the impression I was planning on rabbiting?”

“I just wanted to offer you fair warning. I don't think you'll find the Alliance is the best option after all's said and done.”

“Don't threaten me on my own ship,” Shepard snapped.

“I'm not offering you any threats, just some more friendly advice.”

“We're done here.” She reached for the comm panel, but it dimmed and went dead under her fingers.

“No, not quite,” the Illusive Man said softly.

“Go to hell.” Shepard turned on her heel and stepped off the holopad. She slammed face-first into a wall and staggered, skin crackling with electricity.

“Ah, you've activated the kinetic barrier. It's hooked into the Normandy's main power supply; I wouldn't recommend trying to take it down.” She could see it now: energy hummed and flickered bluely around the circumference of the holopad, locking her in.

“Bastard!” She drew her sidearm.

“All right then,” he said, shaking his head, and put one hand in his pocket. Shepard had a brief impression of the cherry of his cigarette glinting red in synthetic irises before pain struck her like a tidal wave. There was no buildup, no preamble, no warning: agony seared down every nerve, whiting out her vision and filling her ears with a dull roar. She couldn't feel, couldn't think, couldn't move – interrogation resistance skills would have been useless even if she could have summoned up the presence of mind to remember them. The Illusive Man blew out a cloud of smoke and watched her collapse, her pistol clattering to the floor beside her, safety still on. He took another drag on his cigarette. At his feet, Shepard was screaming.

She had no idea how long he tortured her. Time had no meaning in that burning, wordless place beyond all thought or sense, every facet of her mind overwhelmed with pain. But after an eternity, or maybe an instant, it receded, and her body came back to her. She lay curled up on the holopad, the charge of the kinetic barrier around it buzzing uncomfortably over her skin. Her muscles trembled uncontrollably and she was wheezing, choking for air in huge, convulsive gasps.

Shepard felt strangely divorced from her physical responses to the pain; her mind was quiet, empty of all thought. The surface of the holopad was cool under her cheekbone. Her pistol lay a few inches from her face and she stared at it, drinking in the textured plastic of the grip, the grooved detailing around the safety, the tiny green light indicating a full clip. Her throat hurt – she must have been crying out, but she had no recollection of doing so. For that matter, she couldn't remember falling. Slowly, a thought bubbled up to her: he could hurt her very, very badly, even kill her if he so chose. There was no way this effect was confined to the briefing room. She wasn't afraid of the pain, she told herself, but he could incapacitate her completely with the touch of a button. Helplessness was the biggest threat. The tremors in her limbs seemed to be fading; her breathing was beginning to return to normal. She realized the Illusive Man was talking again.

“... sorry, Shepard, but you leave me no choice. You need to know what you're up against, and who you're dealing with. I cannot allow you to jeopardize this mission for the sake of a petty grudge. The survival of humanity is at stake. This is more important than either of us. Believe me when I tell you that the politicians have already failed. _We_ must act. Please help me, Shepard. Don't make me do this again.” She fought to slow her breathing, and found she could.

“You're a fucking sadist,” she said through gritted teeth.

“No, Shepard. I'm a realist. I take no pleasure in this.” His holographic feet were almost within arm's reach. The simulated black leather gleamed.

“Bullshit.” She looked up at him, reaching for her gun.

The pain was a cell door slamming in her mind. She had hoped to punch through it somehow, fight it off, but it was impossible. Every nerve in her body went dead under the pressure, all sensory input wiped clean as her entire brain gave itself over to agony. When at last he released her, she was startled to find herself crying. Her entire body shook with convulsive sobs, her diaphragm shuddering violently. Her legs and fingers twitched; tears pooled on the holopad. She couldn't control her breathing at all, not even enough to cry quietly. Bizarre, she thought. She'd never responded to intense pain like this before. Then again, she'd never endured anything like – whatever the hell the Illusive Man was doing to her.

It had to be an implant of some kind, Shepard mused. Something else he'd stuck in while he was chopping her up into little pieces and putting her back together again. Another one of his enhancements. A control chip would have been more efficient though; it didn't make sense. The Illusive Man knelt over her and her brand new body flinched violently, eyes squeezing shut as his holograph bent down.

“This never has to happen again, Shepard.” His voice was soft, gentle. “I see us as colleagues on this mission. We're pursuing a noble goal together – stopping these Collector attacks is surely worth any price, isn't it? Even working with me. I'm here to help you; I want to give you all the information and resources you need to protect the human race. I know that's what you want to do, what's always motivated you. You're an incredible soldier, a brilliant commander, and a great hero, Shepard. Don't let your feelings blind you. I know you see what's at stake here. But of course, this is your ship, as you say. You're free to do what you think has to be done. I think you should go – talk to whomever you feel you must. I just ask that you not make a decision until you have all the facts. I think you'll find I've told you nothing but the truth.” Shepard's tears turned to deep, shuddering breaths as he spoke.

“Well now. I think I've said enough. I'll let you go; I'm sure you have a lot of work to do.” He rose with a sigh. She heard footsteps, then the soft _ping_ of a terminated connection. The kinetic barrier around her cut out with a faint buzz of dispersing energy and her body unfolded where it had been pressing against that electrical wall, her legs stretching out with a jerk, her head lolling. Shepard lay still in the dark for a long time, waiting until the tremors had fully subsided before she even tried to move.

 


	3. Friendlies

Illium was a goddamn pisshole, Shepard thought, but it was certainly a shiny one. She'd turned the Cerberus team loose at the spaceport, ordering a skeleton crew to remain on board but granting everyone else a day of shore leave. Lawson had a list of equipment to purchase; Shepard figured she might as well spend Cerberus' money while she had it. Giving her detestable XO a shopping list was amusing, too. It still struck her as incredible that the Illusive Man had really thought –

She gritted her teeth, focusing hard on the kiosks around her as she strode through the mall. Forcing the memory down took effort, but after Akuze, anything was manageable. Right? The floor was tiled in white and cream in a large, whorled pattern, graceful in that symmetrical asari way. The purple sky gave a warm cast to the light here, deepening the colors of her uniform, but it wasn't enough to obscure the fact that she wore Cerberus livery. Shepard made a mental note to pick up some decent civvies before she left. Her omni-tool pinged, interrupting her thoughts. She turned right and took the stairs two at a time. Liara's office was just ahead.

Shepard slapped the lock holo with an eager palm. The door opened to reveal a small waiting room and an asari sitting behind a desk, tapping away at her terminal. Shepard's heart leapt, then caught in her throat: the woman bore no real resemblance to Liara. She was rather plump, with violet skin and dark eyes. The secretary glanced up as Shepard approached, and smiled.

“Cmdr. Shepard, welcome. Liara is expecting you.”

“She has a secretary?”

“I'm her assistant. I help manage her information network and liaise with clients. But please, through here. I know she's looking forward to seeing you.” The asari gestured to the door behind her desk with one purple hand.

“Thanks.” Shepard paused at the door, her throat tight. Two years dead, she thought. What if Liara really  _had_ changed? What if she'd moved on, didn't want her anymore? What if she was seeing someone else? The lock holo evaporated as she reached for it with reluctant fingers: the assistant had opened it for her. 

The door slid back with a whirr, and there Liara was, tall and slender, her freckles showing up navy against her smooth, blue skin. She was wearing green – a good color on her, Shepard had always thought. She stood with her back to the door, facing a comm display, her silhouette framed by broad windows and a fine view of Nos Astra. The sun was setting behind the skyscrapers, lighting her up with amber fire.

“Have you faced an asari commando unit before? Few humans have,” she said, her silken voice like ice. Shepard's eyes widened. “Pay me what you owe, Aran, or I'll flay you alive. With my mind.” She disconnected without waiting for a reply. Holy shit, Shepard thought. The apple evidently didn't fall as far from the extremely dangerous tree as she'd always thought. She must have made a sound as she stood there, because Liara whipped around, her blue eyes going huge with shock.

“Shepard!” she cried, the cool facade dropping in an instant. She rushed toward her, hands out, nearly tripping on the hem of her skirt. This was the Liara she remembered. Shepard stepped forward and swept her up in an embrace. The asari was still soft in her arms, still warm, and still a few inches taller. Liara cupped Shepard's cheek in one hand and kissed her, first softly, then passionately when the human didn't pull away. Shepard clung to her, the tension melting out of her shoulders as her lover stroked her shorn hair and ran her hands up and down her back.

“ _Goddess_ , I missed you,” Liara whispered.

“Yeah,” Shepard said, her voice a little hoarse. “It is so fucking good to see you, Liara. Oh, Jesus.” She pressed her face against the taller woman's shoulder, breathing in her scent. It had changed over the years – she smelled sharper, muskier, as though she wore a hint of perfume, but under it was the smell of her skin, warm and sweet and mild. Shepard sighed deeply. Liara kissed her cheek, then her neck, hugging her tight. At last, Shepard released her. Liara stepped back, taking her hand and looking her up and down.

“I almost cannot believe it. I knew you were alive, but it is one thing to read it in a report, and another to have you standing here in front of me.” She reached up to touch the scars on Shepard's cheek with gentle fingers. “I am so glad to have you here, my love.” The endearment almost hurt, it was so good to hear.

“I'm just happy I found you.” Shepard's voice shook a little.

“I would have made sure of that,” Liara said with a smile, squeezing her hand. “Come on, sit.” She drew Shepard to a couch on the far side of the office from her desk, settling her carefully before taking a seat herself. She picked up a heavy crystal decanter from the coffee table and poured them each a finger of some deep violet liquor. Shepard sipped hers tentatively. It was strong, sweet but not cloying, with a richly fruity taste she couldn't place. Some asari drink, she supposed. Liara smiled at her over the rim of her glass, her blue eyes warm.

“How are you, Liara?”

“I am well. Information brokering is interesting work; it is not so different from archeology, when you get right down to it. More dangerous, but you prepared me well for that.”

“Glad I could help,” Shepard said dubiously. Liara chuckled.

“I could not have done any of this without you, Shepard. Illium is a beautiful place, but terrible as well. I have managed to carve out a place here, and a good one at that. My time with you taught me a great deal.”

“You talk about it like it's all over,” Shepard said softly.

“Oh no, I did not mean – my dear, I am sorry.” Liara grabbed her hand. “It is just that, well, I am used to you being... gone. Losing you was...” She trailed off, biting her lip.

“Hey, I'm sorry. It's okay. I wasn't accusing you of anything. I guess this whole thing has been, I mean, I'm having a shitty time adjusting too. I mean, two  _years?_ I still can't wrap my head around it.” Shepard sipped her drink, trying to swallow the lump in her throat.

“Of course. As strange as this is for me, it must be so much more difficult for you. How are  _you,_ Shepard? How are you really?” Shepard shut her eyes.

“Fucking awful,” she said hoarsely. “This has been a goddamn nightmare. I've only been up for a few days. And Cerberus has me, Liara.  _Cerberus!_ Did you know?” Liara looked down at her lap, pulling her hand out of Shepard's and folding it around her glass.

“Yes,” she said, her voice low. “I knew. I gave you to them.” Shepard's heart seemed to stop in her chest. For a moment she sat paralyzed, unable even to breathe.

“What?” she whispered at last.

“I had to  _do_ something. And they were the only ones who would help.”

“Why?  _How?”_

“After the attack on the Normandy... It took some doing, but I found your body. The Shadow Broker had gotten hold of it. He was going to sell you to the Collectors, Shepard. I stopped him. Cerberus contacted me – they said they wanted to bring you back. How could I say no?”

“So this is  _your_ fault.” Shepard's mouth was dry. Liara looked up at her, eyes full of tears, mouth an angry line.

“Well what was I supposed to do? Just leave you  _dead?”_ she cried. “You were the  _only_ one who could fight the Reapers – no one else would even admit they existed! And oh, goddess, I  _love_ you. I missed you so much. I just wanted you back.” Tears rolled down her cheeks; she didn't bother to wipe them away.

“You loved me, so you  _gave_ me to the people who murdered my  _entire fucking unit_ on Akuze?” Shepard's voice was rising, but she didn't care. The ice in her chest was melting into white-hot rage.

“They said they wanted to work  _with_ you! They agreed with me about the Reapers. It was years ago, Shepard, they are a different organization now! Who knows if anyone from the original op is even left?” Shepard stood. Her hands were shaking; she clenched her fists to hide it.

“I know,” she grated. “You have no idea who these people are,  _no_ idea what they're capable of,  _no_ idea what they did to me!”

“Of course I – what they did to you? What do you mean?” Shepard stared down at her, fists clenched, breathing hard. Liara was in touch with Cerberus, she thought. That was how she'd heard that Shepard was alive. Maybe she was talking with the Illusive Man himself.  _She may not be the woman you remember._ The echo of his words in her mind made her shudder. Liara set down her drink on the coffee table and rose, hands fisted in her skirt, eyes burning with – with – Shepard couldn't place the emotion.

“Shepard,  _what did they do?”_ But she couldn't speak, couldn't find the words. She had been betrayed by the woman she loved, brought helpless into the jaws of this trap and  _left_ there. How much did Liara know, really? How could this have  _happened?_ Her mind reeled from question to question, horror tying her stomach in knots.

“Shepard!” Liara cried. Shepard shook her head.

“I have to go,” she said. Her voice rang harshly in her own ears. She turned and strode toward the door, schooling her face to blankness with a tremendous effort.

“No, wait,  _please – ”_ Liara hurried after her, grabbing her arm. Shepard knocked her hand away much harder than she'd intended, hard enough that Liara gasped and wrapped her fingers around her wrist, staring at her with wide eyes. Guilt and fear churned nauseatingly in Shepard's stomach.

“I have to go,” she managed, her voice little more than a whisper. This time, Liara didn't stop her. The door closed behind her on the sound of her ex-lover weeping quietly into her palms. Shepard hurried away, not sparing a glance for Liara's assistant as she left, fighting to keep her face blank and force her shoulders down out of their terrified, defensive hunch. She had to keep steady. She couldn't show weakness here. She couldn't show anything at all.

 

* * *

 

Shepard only considered hitting the bar for a moment. It was the thought of Liara finding out about it that stopped her – who knew how many eyes a well-respected information broker had around Nos Astra? More than she wanted to think about, that much was certain. And Cerberus had kindly, or perhaps simply deliberately, left her a well-stocked liquor cabinet in her cabin on the Normandy in addition to the wet bar in the lounge. Shepard slipped onto the bridge as unobtrusively as possible, noting with some relief that Kelly Chambers was not at her post. She neither liked nor trusted the pretty Cerberus operative, and doubted that she was only put there to help Shepard and monitor the mental health of the crew. She was fairly certain that the other woman was a spy, although she had no proof as yet. Her lip curled at the thought of Chambers giving the Illusive Man her professional opinion on Shepard's mental state every week. As if his surveillance devices and the unavoidable AI weren't enough, he needed moles by the hundreds. Hell, for all she knew, every member of her crew was on his goddamn mailing list.

Alone in her cabin, Shepard dug around in the liquor cabinet, and came up with a bottle of bourbon. Perfect. She poured herself a generous double and collapsed on her couch, putting the bottle on the coffee table. Her head still spun with the revelation of Liara's betrayal. Had her lover really just given her to Cerberus without a second thought? She had a hard time believing it, but Liara had admitted to it herself. How could she reconcile the time they had spent together and the love and trust she had felt for the asari with Liara's actions after Shepard's death? Part of her was angry that Liara had interfered at all, that _anyone_ had interfered, that she had not been left alone to rest in orbit of Alchera, just another bit of space trash spinning up there, silent and anonymous in the endless void.

Shepard shut her eyes. She remembered dying, vaguely; she remembered starlight and a burst of pain. Her last clear recollection was of pressing the eject button and sending Joker's life pod out into space and away from the exploding Normandy. Then she knew she had been sucked out into the vacuum. She could recall the sensation of losing her grip on the edge of the console; after that, everything was a blur. She suspected she had only survived a few seconds after being blown out into space. It had been an unexpected end and an early one, but not nearly so painful and ignominious as what Cerberus had done to her – was  _still_ doing to her. The memory of yesterday's conversation with the Illusive Man still burned in her mind; she clenched her jaw, struggling to escape it, to drive it completely from her thoughts. 

Shepard took a mouthful of whiskey, grimacing as it burned down her throat. She was tired of struggling, tired of fighting, tired of being alone. First Tali had refused to come with her, and now Liara had admitted to turning her back on her. She'd held Shepard's life and death in her hands, and had chosen simply to pass them off to Cerberus –  _Cerberus!_ They'd already done their best to kill her once, more than once. She'd taken down many of their side operations during the hunt for Saren, but Project Lazarus had been on a different scale, a different scope entirely, and she still didn't even know where Lazarus Station had been. She'd had a life, a career, a ship, a crew, friends – she'd been in love... And now, two years later, she found it had all been stripped away. She was no longer part of the Alliance; to them, she was still KIA as far as she knew. Her people had scattered to the four winds, and those she had come into contact with since returning seemed to have changed drastically, and were, at best, unable to help her. 

Shepard struggled not to feel betrayed by Tali. She knew that the quarian had had her reasons – she had a job to do, a duty to the Migrant Fleet. Obviously, life had to go on, and two years was a long time. But Liara... Ending her career as an archaeologist to become an  _information broker?_ That she could conceive, but taking on the Shadow Broker himself, and to save Shepard – so she claimed – by giving her to  _Cerberus?_ It was hard for her to wrap her head around. It felt almost like a dream, like she should get up and run back down to Liara's office right now and ask her about it again, and the asari would just look at her blankly and say,  _What are you talking about, Shepard?_ But no, their conversation had been all too real.

Shepard buried her face in her hands. She had missed Liara so much since waking up, had been looking forward to seeing her so much. For all that she was a little excitable and tended to get caught up in minutiae, she was level-headed and cool under fire. Shepard had missed her sweetness, her thoughtfulness, her way of listening carefully and making sure she understood before offering an opinion. Liara had the wisdom of over a century of life, but she was still young for her species, and sometimes even seemed so to a human. Not childlike or innocent, but a little silly, a little uncertain. Her shyness had been so  _cute,_ Shepard thought wretchedly. And she was so respectable, with her integrity, her moral sense and compassion. How could somebody as straight-laced as Liara have gone over to Cerberus, of all people? Liara had always been vocal about her disapproval of the organization, indeed, for any organization that engaged in such practices. 

_She may not be the woman you remember,_ Shepard thought, the Illusive Man's face glimmering in her mind. It was so cruel that he had been right about Liara. What else had he been right about? Shepard shuddered. She wasn't used to agreeing with terrorists; she wasn't used to agreeing with Cerberus. She had been kidnapped, imprisoned, her body violated without her knowledge, altered on a cellular level in ways more fundamental than she would ever have thought possible, even her biotic functions changed by their interference.  _They brought you back to life,_ a treacherous voice in her mind whispered. Shepard swore at it silently. They'd tortured her, they hurt her, they were spying on her, manipulating her, using her – this sparkly ship with all its fancy gadgets, the talented crew, even Joker, were all just ploys to trap her, manipulation piled on deceit piled on coercion. 

She had to stop it while she still could; she had to escape the Illusive Man's clutches permanently. Liara might have been willing to give her to Cerberus, but Shepard wasn't willing to be tossed around like a toy, a prize. She was taking the ship to the Alliance; Liara's confession and the Illusive Man's assault had only strengthened her resolve. She  _had_ to get out of there. But how to approach it? She was tempted to just take the ship to the Sol system, dock at Alliance HQ and give herself up. But what then? How long would they spend verifying her identity before they would listen to her? Maybe Kaidan could help, if she could get ahold of him. But where was he? Special Operations, Joker had said. What the  _hell_ was he doing in Spec Ops? 

She realized she had no idea what the political situation was after spending two years on ice. The Illusive Man's hints and threats were obviously not to be trusted, but Liara had said – or at least, implied – that no one was doing anything about the Reaper threat. That didn't surprise Shepard, knowing how pigheaded the Council could be, but what about Hackett and Anderson? Where were they, and what were they doing? She needed to get in touch with her former superiors. She suspected they might help her more than anyone else would – certainly not the Council, certainly not Liara. Shepard sighed. She was tempted to issue a scramble order immediately, call everyone back to the ship, but that would mean dealing with Lawson and Chambers. Her fucking XO was going to pick another fight, she was sure, try to get her to head for Omega. If Shepard heard the words 'build the team' one more time, she thought she might tear Lawson's throat out.

No, the most important step right now was getting to the Alliance. She would have to finesse it as best she could, make sure the Cerberus crew didn't know where they were headed until it was too late. She rose, glass in hand, and crossed to the terminal. Pulling up her email, her heart leapt. There was a message from Anderson sitting in her inbox. He read my mind, she thought, or Cerberus did. She had no doubt they were screening her mail, among other things. It occurred to her that the message might not even be genuine. On the other hand, the information the Illusive Man had given her on Liara's location and occupation had been accurate. She pulled up the email. Anderson was asking her to meet him on the Citadel – perfect. She wouldn't have to worry about getting them to an Alliance station without Lawson finding out about it.

But what about Joker? Shepard wondered if she should talk to him; she wondered if she should just hand him over to the Alliance without saying a word. It seemed he was reporting on her to the Illusive Man. Shepard sipped her liquor. She didn't have to worry about that just yet. Joker had gone out, and was presumably at the bar. She sighed. Let him have his last hurrah before getting called up in front of the tribunal. Shepard was going to follow the Lieutenant's example for a change, but instead of going out, she was going to spend the evening in her cabin, alone, getting quietly, desperately drunk.

 

* * *

 

The Citadel had changed, Shepard thought. The architecture had been updated, presumably in the rebuilding after Sovereign's attack. It seemed flashier now, more glittering neon, or maybe she was just paying more attention in the Wards this time. She was headed for the Presidium to keep her appointment with the Admiral, but it was still strange, when it seemed he had been a Captain just a few days ago. She fidgeted in the elevator up to his office. It would be good to see Anderson again: finally, someone she could actually trust. The Captain had always been on her side. He'd been a good CO, and he'd always supported her efforts during her tenure as a Spectre, often in direct defiance of the Council. And he, at least, would have no ties to Cerberus whatsoever. She could be sure of that.

The elevator opened with a chime, and she crossed the hallway with two strides, slapping the lock holo on the door with an impatient hand. Anderson stood with his back to her, looking out over the Presidium from the balcony in his office. Seeing the Alliance uniform again made her stomach clench. She hadn't been wild about the Alliance when she'd served under them; some people toed the party line and seemed to think the Admirals spoke with the voice of god, but Shepard tended to feel that all large organizations were inevitably corrupt. Now, after spending time in Cerberus colors, she would have liked nothing more than to have those navy blues on her back again. Anderson turned as she approached, and smiled.

“Shepard! It's good to see you,” he said, holding out a hand. She shook it warmly.

“You too, sir,” she said. “I hear it's been a long time.”

“Don't go all formal on me now.”

“Sorry. It  _is_ damn good to see you, Anderson. How you been keeping?” The Admiral shrugged.

“Working with Udina isn't really how I'd planned to spend my twilight years. I'm more or less his aide.”

“God, you spend every day with that old goat?” Anderson laughed.

“Sadly, yes.”

“I guess I kind of set you up for that, didn't I?” Shepard said sheepishly.

“It wasn't really your fault. It was bound to happen one way or another. By the time he made it onto the Council, it was more or less a foregone conclusion.” Shepard shrugged.

“I guess.”

“But how are you doing?” Anderson asked. “It's been a long, long time since I saw you last.” Shepard's jaw clenched. Too many words piled up behind her teeth, damming themselves up, and she stood silent for a long time, trying to figure out what to say.

“That bad, huh?” Anderson said softly. Shepard just nodded, shrugging helplessly.

“Cerberus,” she said.

“I know. How did that happen, Shepard? What's the situation?”

“It wasn't my choice,” she said. “They... brought me back. That's what I hear, anyway. Liara confirmed it.”

“You've seen Dr. T'Soni?”

“Yes. She's on Illium.”

“I know. And she didn't come with you?” Shepard bit the inside of her cheek.

“I didn't ask,” she said flatly.

“Ah.” Anderson turned back to the balcony, leaning on the balustrade. Shepard braced her arms on the railing beside him. The Presidium hadn't changed nearly as much as the Wards. She supposed most of Sovereign's damage had been concentrated there, rather than in the center of the Citadel. The holographic sky still glimmered blue above her, rushing with fluffy white clouds today. The krogan memorial statue winked up at her between the trees. It was so beautiful here, so peaceful. It seemed so incongruous that she should be standing there, in the midst of this terrible crisis. It should be raining on every planet, everywhere, she thought, just to suit her mood. She smirked a little at herself.

“What?” Anderson said. She shook her head.

“Nothing. I was just thinking. I'm in a bad spot, Anderson. I'm on a Cerberus ship, packed to the gills with surveillance devices, unless I'm much mistaken. I've got their tech in my head, their people on my crew. I'm hoping you can help me. I want to turn the ship over to the Alliance. I've got a whole damn mess of their technology, people high up in their organization, a fucking AI. My XO knows the Illusive Man personally.” Anderson sighed.

“It hasn't been a cakewalk since we lost you, Shepard. What do you know about the political situation here?”

“Only what Cerberus has told me. So probably nothing.” Anderson shook his head.

“They wouldn't have to lie to you to pressure you to stay with them. It's been a mess since Alchera. Nobody wants to acknowledge the Reaper threat.”

“Nobody wanted to acknowledge the Reaper threat  _before_ I died. Why should that have changed?”

“It's worse than that. They're calling Sovereign a geth dreadnought, pretending the whole thing never happened.”

“How is that  _possible_ ? I expect that kind of behavior from the Council, but the Alliance?”

“You forget, we're a Council race now. The Alliance is sticking to the party line.”

“What about these disappearing colonies, then? I've got intel on that as well. It's the Collectors, Admiral, not some rogue squadron of geth, or a lot of random pirate attacks. It's a crisis. If Cerberus is to be believed, anyway.”

“I know. But they're not budging.”

“Why  _not?_ This is fucking ridiculous! We're losing huge numbers of people, and they won't even look into it?”

“It's all in the Terminus Systems, Shepard. The Council has always taken a dim view of our colonies out there, and now we're  _on_ the Council.”

“So what, humanity's suspending colonial efforts?”

“No. But they've been... deprioritized,” Anderson said.

“Bastards.”

“Yeah.”

“Well then, I've got to get back in the fight. If things are as much of a mess as you say – ”

“No, Shepard.”

“They're not a mess?”

“No, Shepard, they are. That's why I need you to stay with Cerberus.”

_“What?”_

“I know it's not what you want to hear,” Anderson said. “I know you're in a bad place. I'm sure they're jerking you around.”

“Monitoring my communications, probably lying to me outright, spying on me – ” Anderson held up a hand.

“I can only imagine the kind of situation you must be in. But we're talking about the fate of humanity, here. The Alliance is not going to look into this. They're not going to let  _you_ look into it. If you come back, god knows what they'll do with you! Put you on a PR tour or something. That's what they did after you died.” Shepard blinked.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, they used your image for awhile. Advertising, recruitment, that kind of thing.”

“Christ,” Shepard muttered.

“I agree. If you come back, best-case scenario, they send you out on a few more little side trips like Alchera.”

“Worst-case scenario?” Anderson shut his eyes for a moment.

“What's all that tech Cerberus put in you, anyway? They're going to want to look into that.” Shepard's blood ran cold at the thought. She hadn't even considered the possibility that the Alliance might want to study what Cerberus had done to her. Verify her identity, of course, but stick her in a lab, poke at her, scans, exploratory  _surgery..._ Anderson just nodded at the look on her face. Distantly, she wondered what he saw there.

“I can see that idea appeals to you about as much as it appeals to me,” he said. “I don't know if they'd do it, but they might. They'd certainly take your ship apart.”

“It's a refit of the Normandy. Not really a refit – they rebuilt it, but better.”

“And it would be decommissioned immediately. They'd strip it for intel, tech...”

“They didn't put together another SR-class ship after Alchera?”

“No. They didn't want to budget it in.” She nodded.

“I don't know what I expected,” she said softly.

“Look, Shepard, I'm sorry. I know you don't want to do this. I know you'd like nothing better than to come back to your career. I'm sure this must all be very sudden for you, losing your whole team, your ship, your commission.”

“I've been conscious less than a week,” she said with a bitter laugh.

“God.” Anderson shook his head. “This is an ugly business. And of course it's up to you again to make the tough choice, do the hard thing. But humanity needs this.”

“You sound like the Illusive Man.”

“I hate to say it, but for once, he may be right,” Anderson said. Shepard stared down at her hands, clenching her teeth so hard her jaw began to ache. She'd come here for help and support, a way out. Now, Anderson was telling her to go back there, go back into that room, with that  _man,_ and – and work with him,  _deal_ with him? Be on his side? After everything he'd done? Captured her, tortured her? 

For a moment, she considered telling Anderson about her meeting with the Illusive Man, but she couldn't see any point. If they needed her to do this work so badly, then what difference did it make? Besides, what if he heard the truth, and decided she might be compromised? What if he did arrange to have her pulled out? Would people just keep disappearing? Would she be shipped off to Alliance R &D to be their lab rat? Shepard was already covered in scars from Cerberus's intrusions, knives and probes, and she couldn't even remember any of it; she had no idea what they'd done to her. To go back to the Alliance and have them pick her apart, take  _their_ turn – it made her nauseous just to think about it. No, this was a secret she was going to have to keep. The Illusive Man's secret, she thought bitterly. She was working for him already.

“Fuck,” she said.

“I know, Shepard.” Anderson's voice was heavy with regret.

“And there's nothing you can do to make the brass see reason?”

“Believe me, I've tried. I've spent two years trying. I just don't have the power. I don't know that anybody does, even you.” Shepard let out a long breath.

“Fuck.” Anderson rested his hand on her shoulder for a moment.

“I wish there was more I could do, Commander,” he said. “I wish I could help, but I can't. My hands are tied. The best I can do is get you in to see the Council. They may be willing to reinstate your Spectre status.”

“Was it ever de-instated?” she asked, snatching at the welcome distraction from her own dark thoughts.

“Well, no. You died. Usually that's pretty much it. But you're probably not listed as active in their systems. I've put in an appointment with them for later today, but I can cancel if you don't think it's worth it.” Shepard shook her head.

“It would just be a goddamn waste of time,” she said with more heat than she'd intended. Anderson grimaced.  
“I thought you might say that.”

“It just doesn't make sense that they can ignore the Reapers after Sovereign attacked the damn Citadel! They were  _there,_ for chrissakes! We saved their lives from that fucking thing. There were chunks of it all over the Wards. The amount of destruction – you'd think it would stick in their minds. It was only two years ago, for the love of god!”

“Well, you know politicians. The best solution is usually the one that generates the best press, as far as they're concerned.” Shepard scowled.

“Idiots.” Anderson just sighed.

“Yes. But they're  _our_ idiots, and we're stuck with them.”

“They never listened to me before. There's no reason for me to start now. You should probably just cancel that meeting.”

“All right, Shepard. I'll do that. Save me getting yelled at by Udina, probably.”

“Well, that's something. At least I can do you one favor, Anderson.”

“More than one. This work with Cerberus – I know it must be hell for you. But humankind owes you for it, owes you big.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Don't you forget it.” Anderson smiled a little,

“Believe me, we won't.” Shepard rolled her eyes.  _“I_ won't.”

They stood in silence for a moment, looking out over the Presidium together. Shepard picked at her nails. The scars on her hands were less livid away from the fluorescent lighting on the Normandy. They gleamed softly in the artificial sunshine of the Presidium; the uneven skin had a pearly sheen to it. She looked at the last three fingers of her right hand, neatly bisected by deep pink lines. Had someone severed and reattached them, or had they cut in to fix the tendons? She had no idea; she probably never would. It seemed so trivial, such an odd place to cut. Maybe the ends of her fingers weren't even really  _hers –_ maybe they'd been grown in a vat somewhere. Why go to all the trouble of putting a new body together for her if they were just going to torture it and stick it in front of gunfire? It seemed like a waste of an investment. 

She had no idea what the Illusive Man's game was, but he was clearly playing with her. Nothing he was doing made any sense as far as she was concerned. He seemed to expect her to come over to his side for some reason; she couldn't fathom why. He was too smart to ever expect something so patently absurd. He had to know it would never work. She had survived Akuze after all; joining him seemed about as sensible as throwing herself to the thresher maws. Cut out the middle man, she thought bitterly, just get it over with. Bastard. Murdering, sadistic bastard. For once, it wasn't survivor's guilt making her wonder if it wouldn't have been better if she had just died that day on Akuze. Then none of this would have happened; somebody else would stop the Reapers; somebody else would have to deal with this. She would be safe, someplace even he couldn't touch her. But no, it had to be her. People always said that there was no one else, that no one else could have done what she did. She didn't know about that, but it seemed that no one else was willing to, and there you were. She just hated doing it alone. She wasn't sure she could.

“What happened to Lt. Alenko?” she asked. “Joker said he got shuffled off into Spec Ops a few months after I died.”

“Yeah. He got transferred, actually. He's in a special division now, under Adm. Howe. The Lt. Commander is working on a classified operation, Shepard. I'm sorry, but I can't tell you any more. Cerberus, you know.” Shepard ground her teeth.

“So I'm cut off from everyone.”

“You're old team? I don't know the status of your alien specialists. Can't speak to that. But Cmdr. Alenko is on assignment.”

“All right. I get the picture.”

“I wish I could do more,” Anderson said. Shepard kept quiet, fingers tightening on the balustrade.  _So_ do _more_ , she thought.  _Bring me back into the Alliance! Make the brass see reason! Keep me the fuck out of their med labs! Let me do my_ job _, what you promoted me for, what I got Spectre status for, dammit!_ But she didn't say a word. It would have done no good to shout at the Admiral, except maybe for her mood. But as he'd said, his hands were tied. Anderson wouldn't lie to her, she knew that much. If he said he'd tried everything, then he had. There was nothing she could do. There was nothing either of them could do. But Shepard was tired, tired of struggling, tired of the lies, tired of being ignored, tired of having to fight people in order to save their lives. For once it would have been nice for anyone –  _anyone –_ to work with her instead of against her. But that was asking too much. She scowled. That would be asking people to actually acknowledge they were in danger when they needed her help. She sucked on her teeth. 

She'd hoped never to see the inside of the SR2 again, except maybe as part of the Alliance boarding party that came in to make arrests and secure the ship. She'd anticipated staying on the Citadel, maybe bunking with the Alliance military here, having her own quarters, or even in a prison cell. None of those would have surprised her. Coming up before tribunals for the Alliance and the Council wouldn't have surprised her. Interrogations would not have surprised her. She fully expected it, as somebody walking out of the jaws of Cerberus. The ship would have been an olive branch, a gesture of good faith, but now Anderson was telling her to keep it. Throwing it back in her face, part of her muttered. But no, that was unfair. The Admiral was asking her to help, to do what humanity was apparently unwilling to do for itself. She had to save everyone, in spite of themselves, again. Shepard ground her teeth. How much time had the destruction of Sovereign and the Conduit bought the galaxy? Years? Months? It seemed too much to hope for centuries or millennia. And the Illusive Man had been right about the Collector attacks – what  _could_ you call them, if not reaping? She'd told the Cerberus crew she was only making a quick stop on the Citadel, and left everyone on board in anticipation of sending boarding parties back to the ship to bring them in. Now it looked like she was going back, to  _resume her post_ . Fucking hell.

“You all right, Shepard?”

“No,” she said flatly. “But there's nothing you can do. There's nothing I can do either. I'm working for Cerberus now. That's just the way it is, I guess.”

“I know you're angry. I'm angry too. But this is the only way. I wouldn't ask you to do this if it weren't absolutely necessary.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Keep me updated on your progress. I'll be here.”

“All right,” Shepard grunted.

“It'll be good to see you,” Anderson said. “You were a good first officer, Shepard. Having you on my crew was always a pleasure.” She looked at him.

“Likewise, sir. Of all the commands I've served on, yours was the best.” Anderson held out his hand; she shook it, and he clasped her hand warmly.

“Good luck, Shepard. Good luck, and godspeed.” She clenched her jaw and counted backwards from five.

“Thank you, sir,” she said.

 


	4. Omega

It was over. Garrus knew it, and so did the mercs. They were already in the epilogue, really; he was playing his last card, and it wasn't going to be high enough. He hadn't slept in two cycles; his hands and shoulder ached from loading and firing, loading and firing. He had the superior position, sure, but how long until they simply stormed the building in force? A steady stream of amateurs and mechs was easy enough to handle, if exhausting, but that gunship would be back at some point, and he wasn't sure he could take it down again. If nothing else, fatigue was going to get him killed eventually. Turians were good at going without sleep compared to humans or salarians, but Garrus had been testing his own limits for a long time now, and his aim and reflexes were beginning to suffer noticeably. He clenched his teeth and keyed in the command to his omni-tool to inject the last of his stims. Archangel would die today, he thought, but he intended to take as many mercs with him as possible. Garrus peered over the balustrade. Another wave of cannon fodder inbound. He ejected his clip, mandibles flexing with grim good humor.

“Let's do this,” he muttered, drawing a bead on the nearest merc.

His target dropped before Garrus even had time to put his finger on the trigger. The turian blinked. This was the first time in over a week that anything had surprised him. Another merc went down, then another. He was still wondering who the fuck would ever bother to come to _his_ rescue when a heavily armored figure vaulted out of cover down below. It was human – _she_ was human, he thought, squinting – with two people at her back: another human in a cowl and a lightly armored salarian whose omni-tool still glinted on his arm. Peering through his scope, Garrus recognized Dr. Mordin Solus with a jolt. But what in hell was Solus doing _here?_ They'd met in passing several times, but the little fellow seemed married to his clinic. Had the plague been cured? It seemed he'd missed a lot, cooped up in his sniper's nest while every major merc group on the station racked up casualties under the auspices of his crosshairs.

The two humans were conferring. Solus swept the area, SMG raised, then trotted back to them with a small nod. Clear, evidently. The armored woman gestured toward the building, laying out a plan of attack. Something about her was familiar, the set of her shoulders, the firmness of each motion as she pointed out cover; Garrus recognized an Alliance hand-sign. She turned, and he saw the red N stripe on her arm. He zoomed in on her face as she set off toward his hidey-hole, her companions in tow. The visor glinted teasingly up at him for a moment, and then she passed out of the glare. A firm mouth, jaw set under the helmet, eyebrows down in a human scowl, scars on her cheeks but – he rocked back on his heels, shocked. It was Shepard. Or at least, someone who looked an _awful_ lot like her. His mandibles fluttered against the cheekplates of his helmet.

 _But Shepard's dead_ , he thought. He'd watched the Normandy explode, he'd heard Joker's account of what had happened, seen the Flight Lieutenant's writhing guilt with his own eyes. He'd watched Liara fold up under the weight of her grief. It had been impossible to support her through it, although he'd done his best, but she was so _young_ in some ways, and no soldier. Was this a clone? A mech? Here on Omega? For _him?_ He couldn't fathom why anyone would send some substandard copy of Cmdr. Shepard all the way out here to punch its way through an army of mercs for one of her old friends. Did they really think it would fool him? But it had looked _just_ like her, _moved_ like her, fought like her. His mandibles flared in a grimace. Well, there was one way to find out, and it was standing in the doorway behind him.

“Archangel?” It even sounded like her. Almost on cue, a pair of LOKI units appeared on the bridge below. Garrus held up a hand for quiet, not turning, grateful for the distraction. He took more care than he needed lining up his shot. The mechs were easy targets – hell, they had bulls-eyes lighting up their faceplates and everything. He took one down, then the other, bottles on a fence. There was no more movement on the bridge after the last one fell. What the fuck was he supposed to say to this false Shepard? _Play it cool,_ part of him muttered. _You don't know what it is yet. Find_ _out what it wants. Well, all right then._ Garrus levered himself upright, leaning on his rifle. He'd been kneeling for a long time. Even with the stims, his muscles were weary. He settled himself on a crate well behind cover, and reached up to unfasten his helmet.

The clone gasped when it saw his face. It really did look like her, perfect in every detail right down to the little quirk in her eyebrows. Her eyes went round as she stared at him, evidently at a loss for words. Garrus kept his expression neutral, not allowing his perplexity to show on his face. This thing had come in with a team to fetch him, that much was obvious. Why the pantomime?

“Shepard. I thought you were dead.”

 _“Garrus?”_ The shock in her voice sounded genuine. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same question.” She tugged off her helmet with a sigh. For a moment he stared, trying to ascertain the extent of her injuries, before he remembered that human hair was just dead tissue and could be cut without causing any harm. Hers was gone, except for a fine fuzz covering her scalp. Stubble, they called it. He could see scars there, tracing a whorl around her skull, crisscrossing her cheeks and forehead, slipping down her neck to worm their way under her collar. Synthetic irises glinted at him in the light. Why would a clone have synthetic parts? Why cut up a clone like this and not fix it after? Why cut up a clone at all?

“I came... for you,” she said. She looked tired, saggy and drawn in that soft, human way, with dark circles under her eyes. “I mean, they didn't tell me it was you. The dossier just said Archangel. I need your help, Garrus.” If it had really been Shepard, he would have said he saw _pleading_ in her eyes.

“Dossier? They?” She shut her eyes for a moment.

“Cerberus. They're putting a team together. We're going after the Collectors.” Garrus allowed his mandibles to flex in surprise.

 _“You're_ working with Cerberus?” _The Collectors?_ he thought.

“I... no. Well – I guess. They brought me back.” She rubbed her brow with a weary hand.

“So you _were_ dead.”

“That's what they tell me.” The grim humor in her voice was so very _Shepard._ If anybody had the resources and sheer lunacy to raise her from the dead, it was Cerberus, he reflected. Maybe... No, it was impossible.

“How is that even – ”

“I have no idea.” She spread her hands in a helpless shrug. “All I know is, I'm here, and everybody's telling me two years have gone by. I know how this sounds, I know how it looks. Sometimes I think I'm crazy too, believe me. Keep expecting to wake up in a damn padded cell, but so far, no dice.” The bitter edge to her voice was new, but the one-sided smirk and raised eyebrow were deeply familiar to Garrus. He found himself relaxing, wanting to respond to Shepard – the _clone,_ he told himself – as if it were really her. Beside her, the little salarian shifted.

“Implants. Cellular transfusions, cybernetics, tissue regeneration, application of electric charge to stimulate nervous system, restore organ function. Time in space preserved much of physical structure, body frozen on night side of Alchera, then in refrigeration, cryostasis. Damage inevitable, explosion, ice crystallization, decompression – fatal, obviously. But...” Solus took a breath. “Ultimately reversible. Unprecedented, but possible. As you can see.” Garrus frowned at him. The doctor was a bit of a wild card, but he'd never known him to be wrong.

“And you're taking on the Collectors?”

“They're attacking human colonies. Thousands of people are just...”

“Vanishing. I heard about that. Bad business.”

“The Alliance won't do a damn thing about it. Hell, I talked to Anderson, and he told me his hands were tied. We _have_ to stop this. No one else will.” Shepard pounded a fist into her palm. Garrus had to struggle to keep his mandibles from flickering as he leaned forward, intent. _Could_ it be her? Cerberus had no ethical limits, it was true, but this story was consistent with their MO, and no ethical limits easily translated into insane schemes like resurrecting a certain Spectre, for example...

“Shepard is genuine,” Solus said. “Passed even Aria T'Loak's scans. Will that proof satisfy?” Damned salarian shrewdness.

“She told us where to find you,” Shepard said. Solus nodded. “Look, Garrus, I understand if you're wary of me. It doesn't matter. Even if you don't want to join my team, please, let me help you. I'm not going to leave a friend to die here for my duty to some suicide mission spearheaded by goddamn _terrorists_.” Her eyes flashed; her fists clenched; her shoulders were tense with urgency. Part of him wanted to object, probe deeper, question further, but he felt that voice stutter into silence as the weight of his decision crushed it into dust. He didn't know if it was the look on her face that convinced him, or Solus's arguments, or the contempt in her voice whenever she mentioned Cerberus, or the tiny step forward she took when she asked to fight beside him one more time. Maybe none of those things; maybe all of them at once. But something settled in his mind in that instant: it was her. Shepard was back. Garrus was so delighted, he felt almost fresh for the first time in days.

“As if I'd say no,” he said, mandibles flaring in a grin. Shepard's eyes lit, her smile promising a world of hurt to the unfortunate mercs that were about to find themselves on the wrong end of her gun.

“It'll be just like old times.”

“I'll make sure to save you a few, then. For old times' sake.”

“And here I thought you just enjoyed the pleasure of my company.”

“Well, there's that too, but I'd hate to bore you.”

“When you've thrown such a great party? Not much chance of that.” Shepard put on her helmet, still smiling. Garrus rose and held out a hand. They clasped arms warmly. She was solid, her armor hard under his palm, putting to rest the faint ghost of a fear that she was just a fatigue-induced hallucination there to keep him company on his way out of the world. _Archangel, seeing ghosts,_ he thought, amused. But Shepard was as real as he was. Movement flickered in the corner of his eye.

“Ah, here come some guests,” he said.

“Guests?” Shepard drew her pistol. “These are just the party favors.” She took cover behind the balustrade as Garrus pressed himself against the wall. Solus knelt between them, muttering over his omni-tool, and Shepard's silent, cowled companion simply vanished. The tech cloak was the best he'd ever seen – not a flicker, not a ripple.

“And you brought the punch, is that right?” He took down a merc with a graceful headshot. Shepard blasted two more with a biotic field that sent them flying.

“Nah,” she said. “Just a couple hundred piñatas.”

“What the fuck is a piñata?” Shepard grinned tightly, dropping a point singularity into a knot of hapless mechs.

“It's something you pulverize with a great big stick.”

“Can you shoot it, too?”

“Oh, well, you _can,_ I guess. But the other way's more fun.” Garrus took down the shields on a salarian and watched with satisfaction as Solus set the miserable fellow alight with the press of a button. Down on the bridge, Shepard's human companion stepped in and out of her cloak, felling mercs with well-timed shots and an electrically augmented blow or two from her omni-tool.

“I'd rather take my chances with a rifle, thanks.”

“Just wait. My stick's not here yet.” He was still trying to work out what the hell _that_ was supposed to mean when the YMIR mech burst out onto the bridge with a roar of gunfire. Garrus tensed, drawing a bead on the massive robot.

“Hang on!” Shepard snapped, gesturing to him to lower his gun. Garrus stared at her, utterly perplexed; she raised her eyebrows at the battle raging below. He turned his gaze back to the bridge just in time to watch the mech launch a missile directly into the knot of Blue Suns crouching in cover beside it. As the bodies flew through the air, Garrus laughed for the first time in weeks.

They took a nice little breather while the mech destroyed a few mercenaries for them. Shepard's cowled companion had reappeared beside them as they spectated; she was introduced to him as Kasumi Goto before joining Solus at the balustrade and taking potshots at the mercs while Shepard passed Garrus water packs and some food, or, well, sustenance – 'food' seemed like a strong word for gunk that came in a squeeze tube. But he gave her a nod of gratitude, tearing into it with a voracity that surprised him. He'd been fighting for so long that he'd almost forgotten he was hungry, but the DEXTRO stamp on the wrappers in his hands might as well have been poetry. The foul protein paste almost tasted good. _That's how you know you've been in the field too long,_ he reflected. _When emergency rations seemed gourmet, it was time to go the fuck home._ It seemed like solid grounds for a discharge, anyway – insanity, delusions and so on. He squeezed a water pack into his open mouth, taking the whole thing in a single gulp. _Thank the damned spirits for this woman,_ he thought, watching Shepard yank a hapless merc into the air with her biotics and shoot her, smirking. He had no idea how he'd gotten through the last two years without her.

 

* * *

 

 

“Gunship!” Shepard yelled, diving for cover. She hoped the roar of gunfire hadn't drowned out her words over the comms, as it had certainly drowned out any responses from her team. Where were they? Kasumi was sandwiched neatly between some crates and the balustrade – an excellent position, protected from both lines of fire open to the pilot. Mordin had a pillar to his right, covering him, and Garrus – oh, fuck. _Fuck!_ Her stomach turned to ice as a rocket hissed over her head. _“Garrus, look – ”_

_Crack._

She turned her head just in time to see the turian go down. His armor looked shattered; blue pooled on the floor at his shoulder. The tall sweep of his breastplate hid his face from her view, but that was a lot of blood. Too much blood. Oh, no, no, _no!_ Not like this, not now, not when she'd just got him back, goddamn it. She needed him, needed _someone_ she could trust, someone she _knew,_ not just a bunch of strangers who hated each other and lied to her through their teeth. She could count on Garrus to tell her the truth. But if he was already, already –

“We're clear. Cover me!” Mordin's voice over the comms cut through the fog of horror in Shepard's mind. She scrambled to her knees, bringing her gun up and checking the area for hostiles. The area was clear, the gunship gone, although she could still hear its engines. The salarian doctor swept past her and she jumped up to follow him, clenching her fists. She couldn't remember the last time she'd lost focus during a firefight like that. It couldn't happen again. She slid to her knees beside Garrus. God, there was so much blood.

“Alive,” Mordin pronounced, digging in a med kit he'd yanked off the shelf behind him. “Will stabilize, then need help getting patient into cover. Must protect until gunship is down, can call for evac then.”

“How can I help?” Shepard demanded hoarsely. Mordin blinked at her, his hands still busy.

“Provide covering fire.” She was momentarily overwhelmed by a sudden desire to punch him, and ground ground her teeth, controlling herself with an effort. Mordin was applying medi-gel to the deep lacerations on Garrus's face and neck, his fingers blue with turian blood. Shepard took a deep breath.

“Okay.” She thrust herself to her feet and stepped into the meager cover just ahead of her fallen teammate, ready to throw up a barrier between him and any bullets that might head his way.

“We've got incoming,” Kasumi said over the comm. Shepard popped her spent thermal clip and rammed a fresh one home, the gunship's engines whining in her ears.

“Okay, assholes. Let's go,” she muttered into her helmet. And then the ship was back in her line of sight, and the bellow of its guns drowned out the rest of her curses.

The fight proved quicker than Shepard had expected; the Blue Suns had evidently not counted on her rocket launcher. She blasted the last merc over the railing with a roiling burst of dark energy as Kasumi overloaded one of the gunship's forward thrusters, smiling faintly to herself. Shepard did not smirk at the sound of the ship exploding below them – she was already at Garrus's side, looking down at him anxiously. Mordin settled himself beside her, examining the hard-set medi-gel sealing the turian's wounds with a professional eye.

“Bleeding stopped. Needs more care than available here, must call for evac, return to Normandy's sick bay. Dr. Chakwas will assist.” Shepard nodded jerkily, keying up a secure comm channel to the ship.

“EDI, I need an evac, stat. Major trauma.” She glanced at Mordin.

“No other wounded, Commander,” he said.

“Send Chakwas,” Shepard told the AI.

“Yes, Commander.” EDI's cool, mechanical voice irritated her. She wanted feedback, real _feeling_ – she supposed she could have buzzed Joker, but the thought of him telling the Illusive Man about her tone of voice later made her want to break something, possibly his skull. She'd been giving the pilot a wide berth ever since... Shepard refused to finish the thought. At least she _expected_ EDI to report to Cerberus on everything she did. There was no betrayal there, just surveillance tech.

“Shepard out.” She killed the line. “Evac inbound.” Mordin nodded. Kasumi vaulted over the crates that surrounded them, crouching beside the salarian.

“You would not believe how many credits these people bring to a fight,” the thief said, shaking her head. Shepard stared at Garrus's battered profile, too worried to think of anything funny to say.

“How's Archangel?” Kasumi asked.

“Stable for now. Evac... timely. Long-term prognosis not to be guessed, at present.”

“You sure know how to put a cheerful spin on things, doc.”

“Hope not unreasonable with proper treatment, if received soon.”

“Inspiring as always.” Mordin did not reply, for which Shepard was grateful. To her team, Garrus was a stranger, just another mission objective. But to her, he was the only friend she had in the entire world, it seemed. She sat with her arms braced on her drawn-up knees, watching the clock in her HUD with one eye and Garrus's face with the other. He was unconscious, eyes closed, mouth slightly open, visor flickering a little, breath rattling in his throat. There were cracks in his bony crest, and the carapace on his right cheek had been completely blown away; she could see deep blue meat through the translucent coating of medi-gel. He had to pull through, he _had_ to. It wasn't until she'd seen him again that she'd realized how terribly alone she had been on the SR2. Having Garrus at her back again... maybe she could actually do this.

 

* * *

 

 

The light was swimming. Garrus could hear voices somewhere above him, speaking a language he couldn't understand, all pops and humming. Was he drunk? No, it was too bright... He grimaced and the right side of his face flared with pain. His mandible wasn't moving properly. There was something in the way. He shifted, putting a hand up to touch his face, and his fingers met numbness. Searching with his sensitive palm, he found a thick dressing covering the side of his head. Someone had shot him, he realized. _Did Amalya dress the wound? But Sidonis is going to kill her!_ Sidonis. He forced his eyes open again, squinting hard at the light. The grooved, silver ceiling worked its way into focus above him.

“Garrus, you're awake.” That tuneful voice resolved itself into curiously familiar words... Garrus turned his head gingerly.

“Dr. Chakwas?” The slim, brown human smiled at him warmly.

“You took quite a hit, my friend. We were worried about you for a bit there, but you've come through beautifully.” He frowned, struggling to wrest some information from his foggy brain.

“What... happened?” The human's... what was it... her _brow_... furrowed.

“You were on Omega, singlehandedly taking on every mercenary band on the station, I gather. Someone shot you with a rocket. From a gunship. You're lucky to be alive.” Memory returned in a rush. The mercs – Sidonis – his team – Shepard.

“Where am I?”

“You are in the med bay on the Normandy SR2,” Chakwas said. _The Normandy?_ Shepard had a ship, he realized. _But the Normandy was destroyed – no, the_ SR2 _, she said. Cerberus rebuilt the ship?_

“Where's Shepard?”

“The Commander is on the bridge, I believe. I've just updated her on your status.”

“What did you say?”

“That you are going to be fine,” the doctor said. Garrus touched the dressing on his face.

“Don't poke at that. It needs to stay on for awhile yet. You lost some of your facial carapace, and your right mandible may be permanently scored, but you don't seem to have sustained any serious nerve damage, and your vision and hearing are intact. There are lacerations on your neck as well, however. You lost a lot of blood, and I believe you have a concussion, but you are going to be all right, if you don't stick your fingers in your injuries, that is.” It took him a moment to parse the contortion of her facial muscles as amusement.

“What have you got me on?”

“Painkillers. You've also got synthetic blood in your system, but that shouldn't affect you as long as you don't start running laps.”

“Oh.” Garrus restrained himself from prodding the bandages on his neck.

“The rocket missed your head, fortunately. Your armor sustained serious damage, however.” His armor... his equipment! Garrus looked at his hands. He was in his coveralls, he saw, but his omni-tool projector cuff had been removed. The undersuit was open at the neck to allow the doctor access and he could feel dried blood stiffening the material at his shoulder, but he was in his own clothes.

“Where's my omni-tool?”

“It's right here in the med bay. Shepard ordered that none of it be touched except to get it off you.” Chakwas moved past the foot of his bed, pointing to the counter by the door. Garrus saw a heap of blue and black hardsuit components in the corner and sighed in relief.

“Would you like your omni-tool now?”

“Yes,” he said. She brought it to him.

“Is there anything else you need?”

“I want... I need to see Shepard.”

“She doesn't know you're conscious yet. I'll get her down here. She is anxious to speak with you.”

“Thank you, doctor.” Chakwas inclined her head, smiling.

“It's the least I can do for an old friend.” She pulled up her omni-tool's holographic interface.

“Wait – ” The doctor shot him an inquiring look.

“Cerberus,” Garrus said.

“Yes.”

“You're wearing their uniform.” She shrugged.

“The clothes were free.”

“What's going on, doctor? What's your take on all this?” Dr. Chakwas sighed.

“The situation is not ideal. Shepard is understandably unhappy about working with them.” _Akuze_ , he thought. _That's right._ “Still, I think it's worth it. Personally, I have no stake in Cerberus whatsoever. I am here for Shepard. If anyone will fight to protect humanity, and _all_ life in this galaxy, it's her. Besides, she needs familiar faces. I want to offer the Commander whatever support I can. The way I see it, we're using Cerberus to complete this mission. Taking their money, their equipment... All for the greater good. We don't have to buy into their agenda. We're here to save people, not serve Cerberus.” Her jaw was set, her eyes meeting his squarely.

“But this ship? They must have surveillance devices on board.”

“Oh, hundreds, I don't doubt. They've got an AI watching our every move.” Garrus stared. “It's the price we pay for dealing with the devil, I suppose. But we're fighting a common enemy for once, and no one else will join us. It's Cerberus or no one, Garrus. We can either do this, or let the Collectors keep taking entire colonies. These atrocities cannot continue. If a little eavesdropping is all this mission costs us, I think it'll be well worth it.” _She really believes it,_ he thought. _And maybe she's even right. Maybe._ But the exhaustion he'd seen in Shepard's face, and the abject begging in her eyes when she'd asked him to join her... _I want to offer the Commander whatever support I can,_ Chakwas had said. _If a little eavesdropping is all this mission costs us..._

“I have to talk to Shepard,” he said.

“Of course.” The doctor brought him his omni-tool, then turned to key up the comms as he snapped the projector cuff around his wrist. “Commander? Garrus is awake, and he's asking for you.”

“I'll be right there.” There was an undercurrent of urgency in Shepard's crisp tone. Garrus smiled, the flex of his mandible sending a needle of pain deep into his skull. He pulled up his omni-tool and logged in, flicking through layers of encryption to reach the files he needed.

“Thank you, doctor. Would it be possible for me to speak to the Commander in private?”

“Naturally. Let me hang some more saline for you – ” Dr. Chakwas puttered around his bed for a moment, fiddling with his IV and checking his vitals as Garrus frowned at the holo interface of his omni-tool. The med bay door opened with a hiss.

“Garrus?” Shepard said.

“I'll be in the mess if you need me. Commander.” Chakwas nodded a greeting on her way out the door.

“Thank you, doctor,” Shepard said distractedly. She strode toward his bed, grabbing a stool and dragging it with her as she crossed the floor.

“I guess we won, huh?” Garrus joked, scrolling through a list of jamming programs. Shepard settled herself beside him, hands twisting in her lap. The cant of her brows and tightness of her mouth meant she was upset, Garrus thought. Or worried. It had taken him some time to learn the basics of human facial expressions – they were awfully different from turian faces in so many ways. The lips were what really threw him; no more confusing than his mandibles were to them, he supposed. But their faces were so mobile, changing drastically with every thought, it seemed. Alenko had been much more neutral than Shepard, much easier to read in some ways, but Garrus had spent enough time watching the Commander's face to learn what most of her more obvious muscular contractions meant. At the moment, she was terribly distressed. He selected a script to jam any mic'd bugs, then another, just to be on the safe side. Three programs to take out cameras within a ten-meter radius winked to life under his fingers.

“I've taken out most of the surveillance tech, Shepard,” he said softly.

“What about the AI?”

“Unless it's running some audio/video recording protocol no one has ever even seen, we should be good.” Shepard grimaced. Garrus supposed anyone with the resources to write an AI could spare the time to write a lot of new surveillance programs, but what about the hardware? “I'm broadcasting a low-grade EM pulse that should fill every damn receiver in this med bay with static. We should be okay.” The human sighed.

“Are you sure?”

“As sure as I ever am about anything,” he said.

“As sure as you are about me?” Her mouth twisted. _Bitter, derisive humor,_ Garrus thought.

“Shepard.” He reached out, pressing a hand gingerly to her arm. He'd never touched her before, but it seemed important – necessary. Humans used physical contact to indicate trust, intimacy, and caring. They were terribly tactile as a species; he supposed it came of not having a carapace. Her jaw clenched as he squeezed her upper arm gently. “I'm _sure_ about you. Please, tell me what's going on.”

“Oh, Garrus.” She covered her eyes with one hand, massaging her brows with tense fingers. He wasn't sure what the gesture indicated, but the slump of her shoulders was thick with weariness and misery. “I don't know. I don't fucking know.” He held his tongue, giving her time to think. Humans had a certain caress they used sometimes to comfort an upset peer. Maybe it would be appropriate... Slowly, cautiously, he rubbed his thumb against her bicep, trying not to snag her coveralls on his bony talon. Humans pressed harder, he suspected, but he was afraid of hurting her. Shepard drew a slow, shuddering breath.

“I woke up two weeks ago in a Cerberus facility. It was a space station – I'm not sure where. I... I remember waking up once before that, on a slab. I was in so much pain, I was drugged, I couldn't move, and... It was only for a few seconds, I think. They just put me under as soon as I moved. It – Lawson was there. She was the one who ran the project to bring me back.” Shepard spoke through gritted teeth, not looking at him. “But two weeks ago, I woke up for real, on a space station with a load of security mechs shooting at me. And I was like – this!” She gestured to her face, the pink scars livid against her skin. “All cut up. It was like I went to sleep over Alchera, and I had some nightmares, and then I woke up, and they're telling me it's been two years, and I'm covered in scars and stuck full of implants. I've got synthetic _eyes_ now, Garrus. And I hurt, the scars sting and the tech burns and I don't know what they did or what... _parts_ even came from where, and the Illusive Man is – is – ” She seemed to choke for breath, wheezing through a closed throat. Crying was a strange phenomenon to Garrus; the asari did it as well, but they didn't convulse and fight for air the way humans did. He knew it indicated severe distress, and that most humans considered it evidence of extreme vulnerability or weakness in a moment of emotional upset. Shepard trembled as she forced the... the tears back, her throat flexing visibly as she controlled her breathing. Garrus pressed a little harder as he rubbed her arm with his thumb, mandibles tense with sympathy.

“That sounds horrible,” he said softly. She took a deep breath, then another, squaring her shoulders.

“Anderson told me to stay with them. The Alliance won't do shit, Garrus. Neither will the Council. Cerberus is the only organization fighting the Collectors, and we _have_ to stop the attacks. So many people... God. It's an atrocity.”

“Atrocity on atrocity,” he said. Her take on the political situation was correct. The fact that the Alliance was willing to turn its back on its own colonies chilled him – for all its faults, the Primacy at least cared about _all_ its citizens. The hideous reality was that Shepard was right, and Cerberus was right.

“I know. This is such a _fucking nightmare_ , but I have to do it. I _have_ to. Because no one _else_ will. That's what they're telling me. Again.” Her voice was thick with bitterness. Garrus grimaced at the misery he heard there.

“And after everything Cerberus has done...”

“To me, Garrus. To _me!_ And I _have_ to stay. I have to do this, and I hate it. I _hate_ it!” He squeezed her arm, mandibles flexing unhappily. Shepard buried her face in her hands.

“Do you know the worst part?”she whispered. _Oh no,_ Garrus thought.

“What happened?”

“Liara gave me to them. _Liara.”_ He stared at her, mind blank, throat hollow.

“What?”

“She said she got my body from the Shadow Broker. He was going to sell me to the Collectors, she said. But _Cerberus_ wanted to _resurrect_ me, and she _loved_ me, so she _gave_ me to them. Me! To _them!_ After Akuze, and now – now – ” Her voice broke. Garrus gripped her shoulder tight as she began to cry, not sure what else to do. Humans with a sufficiently deep emotional bond would put their arms around each other to offer comfort at moments like this – a hug, they called it – but he was neither soft nor warm, his chest covered by a bony carapace, and he couldn't sit up well enough to put an arm around her shoulders anyway. He wasn't sure his friendship with the Commander was close enough to permit hugging, in any case.

“This must be torture for you, Shepard. Between the surveillance and everything they've done to you... Spirits, I'm so sorry. I can't even imagine the position you're in.” Even her hands were tense, her fingers digging into her brow as she took a long, shuddering breath.

“This whole ship, the crew, everything. They're manipulating me, Garrus. Joker, Dr. Chakwas, even _you._ The dossier said Archangel, but they knew. The Illusive Man lied – he said he didn't know where you were, but... there's no way this was a coincidence.” She looked at him, her face swollen, but the whites of her eyes were still pale despite her weeping. The synthetic irises glinted orange.

“It doesn't matter,” Garrus said firmly. “Me, Joker, Dr. Chakwas – we're here for you, Shepard. We're here to support you. Fuck Cerberus! _Fuck_ the Illusive Man! All that matters is protecting innocent colonists. We're here to stop the Collectors. I'm not interested in working for Cerberus – I want to work for _you._ So the hell with their agenda. Let's do what needs doing, and then get the fuck out of here. Whatever you need done, Commander, I'm behind you. All the way.” He met her eyes squarely, heart pounding in his aching chest.

“Even fighting under their fucking _banner?”_ He paused for a moment while his translation software explained the metaphor.

“Screw it. This is about saving lives, not heraldry.”

“You'll really stay?” Shepard whispered. There it was again, that pleading. He'd never seen a look like that on her face before – part of him was horrified. Was this really hitting her that hard? Still, she had died, then woken again in the arms of her most terrible enemy, mass murderers she'd come face to face with a long time ago... Maybe he had no real way to gauge how she should feel right now. Human responses to trauma were unclear to Garrus. They processed things socially, much like turians, but their species were deeply dissimilar in so many ways. Perhaps this all made sense in some way he didn't understand.

“What, you think I'm just going to walk out on the best fight of the century?” he said, trying a small smile and biting back the resulting wince. But he was rewarded by a slight quirk of Shepard's lips. She covered his hand with hers where it rested on her shoulder; even through the carapace on the back of his hand, he could feel the warmth of her skin. Humans ran so _hot_ compared to many other species. Her scars caught the light as she looked down at him, bright-eyed.

“Thank you,” she rasped.

“Whatever you need, Shepard.” He shook her ever so gently for emphasis.

“I'll hold you to that.”

“Yeah, you better.”

“Oh, god.” She buried her face in her hands again. Garrus rubbed her shoulder with a cautious palm, but she didn't pull away. “You have _no_ idea how glad I am to have you here.”

“I just wish I'd joined you sooner.” She chuckled harshly.

“Maybe I should've listened to Miranda after all.”

“Who's Miranda?” Shepard sighed.

“Oh boy. I guess I'd better brief you, huh, Specialist?” He smiled to hear his former human designation on her lips again.

“Guess so, Commander.”

“All right then.” She braced her elbows on her knees and looked at him again, haggard but focused. “Remember the Lawson I mentioned earlier, who headed up the project to bring me back? Well. Miranda Lawson is nominally 2IC on this ship...” Garrus settled back against his pillow, intent. He hoped he'd be able to remember everything she said despite his concussion and the pain meds. Shepard needed someone reliable right now – he had to be at his best for her. What good was a commander without her crew, after all? One thing was certain: this was going to be a long fucking mission, and it might well be him and Shepard against the world the whole way. Garrus intended to be at her right hand for every step of it. He was so busy with his thoughts and the information she relayed to him that he forgot to take his hand off her shoulder.


	5. Build the Team

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry that this took so long, you guys. My mental health has been, um, not. So it took me almost 2 months to write about 10 pages of fanfic lmao. Anyway yeah. I'm not going to make any extravagant promises about speeding up my writing because it would all be lies. Do not expect rapid updates on this fic. I hope this chapter was worth the wait. Thanks for your patience folks. Also if you wanna unsubscribe and just wait til I'm done with this sucker, that's legit.
> 
> I'm trying something new in this chapter. If you find the chapter at all confusing, could you let me know? I'm not sure if I need to do any rewrites, and I guess I _could_ wait to find someone to read it for me, but that would require patience lmao *passes editing work off to my readers on ao3 instead of actually fucking doing it myself*

Shepard had been awake since 0300 hours. She'd taken one a shot, then another, and spent that early morning pacing her cabin, to the door and back, to the door and back, fingernails digging into her skin, battering herself against the memory of the nightmare that had woken her.  It should have been easy to escape; she should have been able to rip the fear off like a pair of filthy coveralls. Breaking free of the bad dreams had always been like making it back to barracks after three days in a hot zone, leaving all that sweat and blood on the floor by your hardsuit components and turning on the shower and sticking your head under the spray, feeling the last of the stims seeping out of your bloodstream as your eyes dropped shut and your knees began to tremble just a little there under the lights in the locker room. But now they kept pace with her night after night, and traced their stinging fingers down every scar in turn til she wanted to take a knife to her own flesh and gouge the implants out one by one.

Shepard paused to take another shot and slammed the glass down on her desk so hard it shattered in her hand. She twitched at the sound, cursing silently, not even realizing she'd cut herself on the glass til she saw the blood. She picked a shard out of her palm: it glittered between her fingers like a ruby, glass stained scarlet as if she were still alive. Shepard ran her hand under the tap til the bleeding slowed, then took some stims, smirking at herself in the mirror - dark eyes, shaven head, Cerberus t-shirt, just scars and bitterness. It had to be at least 0500 by now, late enough that no one on B shift would blink to see her in the gym. And it was, barely. She yanked on her fatigues and left, locking the door behind her.

Garrus found her there almost an hour later, her back to the door, barehanded and laying into a punching bag. Shepard didn't hear him approach, too intent on forgetting the nightmare to notice anything else, stims running white noise through her veins. The turian had to step in front of her, reaching out with both hands to keep the bag from slamming into him with her next strike, before she even noticed he was in the room.

“Shepard.” Startled, she skipped back, dropping into a defensive stance, heart hammering as she put her back to the wall before she even realized who she was looking at.

“Whoa!” Garrus said, holding up his hands. Shepard blinked, forcing herself to relax.

“Sorry. I didn't see you.” She stepped forward, leaning against the stand and crossing her arms. Garrus looked down at her; she couldn't read his expression.

“Didn't mean to scare you,” he said. Shepard shrugged, trying to settle herself and failing spectacularly. Garrus wasn't even in his hardsuit – he cut a much slighter figure in coveralls, but she still couldn't calm the churning in her gut, couldn't crush the urge to keep some space between them.

“I wasn't paying attention, I guess. What's up?”

“Uh, I was just on my way to the mess and saw you. We were going to talk about that mission before the briefing tomorrow, right?” _Shit._

“Yeah, of course. Come on. I was about done anyway.” The alcohol was draining out of her system, leaving a dull irritability fizzing under her skin. She wanted another drink, but she'd settle for coffee.

“You all right?” Garrus fell in beside her as she strode toward the elevator.

“Yeah. Why?”

“You seem a little tense.” Shepard shrugged, slapping the call button.

“I guess. Didn't sleep too well. Least we get to shoot a few mercs today, huh?” Garrus chuckled, but she could still see him eyeing her in her peripheral vision.

“So, what's the plan?” Shepard latched onto his question like a drowning woman snatching at an outstretched hand.

“You, me, Solus, Goto. Zheng'll set us down at the drop point. Okeer's working with – ” The elevator pinged.

“Commander.”

“Ma'am.” Shepard nodded to the Cerberus crewmen as they passed; shift change, she thought. Garrus shot her as quizzical a look as the dressing on his face would allow as she punched up the crew deck and the door slid shut.

“No trust in the crew, huh?”

“I don't trust anybody in Cerberus colors.”

“Not even with missions you're running for Cerberus, on their own ship?” She gave a lop-sided shrug.

“Better not to get into bad habits.” She didn't meet his eyes.

“Fair enough. So, Okeer's lab.”

“Yeah. He's working out of a Blue Suns facility on Korlus. The planet's a goddamn shithole, but the base looks pretty big. We're probably gonna have to fight our way through a lot of Blue Suns before we find him – ” When the elevator door opened Garrus followed her out onto the crew deck. Shepard hoped his silence was attentive, that he wasn't watching her for her next twitch or jump. She'd woken in a cold sweat at 0300 from a dream of his gun in her face, his blue eyes glittering behind that brilliant visor as her old friend pressed the muzzle of a pistol to her forehead. _You're compromised, Shepard. You can't be allowed to endanger this mission anymore._ And she'd come awake to nothing at all, just a gunshot rattling around in her empty skull and a mouthful of blood from the cheek she'd bitten through in her sleep. She realized abruptly that Garrus was talking to her.

“Shepard. Do we know where his lab is? Shepard?” _Fuck. God fucking dammit._ She shook her head a little.

“Sorry, haven't had my coffee yet – um. No, but we should be able to patch into the Suns' comms, that might give us a hint.”

“Okay. I know the standard frequencies they used on Omega, and I saw them using some of the same ones on the Citadel back in C-Sec.”

“Good. This'll be a piece of cake.” Shepard stopped to pour herself a cup of coffee, the early birds on A shift nodding to her as they passed, and Garrus standing quiet at her elbow. 

 

* * *

 

“You're _what?”_

“I'm opening the tank.” Shepard strode across the mess, her shoulders tense.

"Why?"

"It's been in that cargo bay for almost a week now.  Damn thing's a waste of space and power - and every day it sits down there is a day we  _don't_ have a genetically perfect krogan on our team."

“This is - Spirits.  If you're really going to do this, then I'm coming with you.”

“Dammit Garrus! God _knows_ what was in Okeer's imprints. I can't have a turian at my shoulder when I wake up the goddamn baby krogan warlord.”

“Well, you need _someone_ else in there. It's not safe, Shepard!”

“You think I can't protect myself?” She turned on her heel, making him stagger to a halt to avoid slamming into her.

“No, of course – ”

“Then let me do my job.”

“Shepard, _please – ”_ Garrus's mandibles fluttered with distress. He held his arms by his sides for a moment, then reached up for her shoulders, then jerked his hands back, his mandibles trembling a little.  Anxiety?  Confusion?  Shepard clenched her jaw. _Interspecies social interaction bullshit,_ she thought.

“I'll be fine,” she said, keeping her voice low. Gardner and the three other Cerberus crewmen in the mess were conspicuously _not_ staring at them.

“How can you be sure of that?” Garrus demanded, his voice soft but fierce. She met his eyes squarely.

“It's me, Garrus,” she said, her voice flat. “And if I'm _not_ fine, well, Cerberus just lost four million credits.” Garrus clenched his fists at his sides.

“At least let me stand outside,” he said. Shepard looked away, irritation surging through her.

“Shepard, _please.”_

“Fine.”

“And if you need me – if you need support – buzz me. Tell EDI. Just scream. Something. _Please.”_ He didn't grab her, but he loomed in that turian way – they didn't tend to touch each other, she'd noticed, but they got in each others' space in a way that humans didn't unless they were offering real violence. Garrus's closeness meant he was serious – and scared, and pissed, probably – but not that he was going to hit her. If he were closing for an attack, he would have left more space between them to preserve the advantage his longer reach gave him. She ground her teeth.

“Fine. There'll be something. If things really go south.” Then came the obligatory pause while his translation software explicated the idiom. At last Garrus nodded, but he didn't relax.

“Good.” He was taking her at her word, giving it the same weight as an oath. Shepard let out a long, silent breath. How could she trust him if he couldn't trust her?

“Let's go.” She headed for the elevator and he followed, matching her pace easily. _Damned aliens and their height and long legs,_ she thought irritably. _No way to sweep out ahead of him like I can with a volus._ Salarians kept up, mostly because they trotted. As fast as walking as they were at talking, for all their short legs and small mouths. She slapped the call holo on the elevator, gnawing on the inside of her cheek. She couldn't deny that waking Okeer's prototype was dangerous. But they needed it, needed any info it might have, needed its prowess in battle. Garrus seemed overly concerned. How many krogan had Shepard killed? How many krogan had he watched her take out? She ignored the fact that she'd been armored and fully armed for every fight he'd ever joined her in.

They elevator opened with a ping. The two of them stepped inside and Shepard punched up deck 4, scowling. _As if he thinks I have a deathwish,_ she thought. _I'm just here to give the Reapers a bad day; failing that, the Collectors can suffer, and failing_ that _, Cerberus'll just have to take it all up the ass. Dying's just a... a byproduct of ruining the Illusive Man's day._ She folded her arms, leaning against the wall. Garrus was watching her in his peripheral vision, mandibles flickering with tension. Damn turians and their facial expressions, always so mobile, drawing her eye. She wasn't sure if it was all common body language or if she just knew him so well that his presence struck her as almost human: the elevator was full of his worry and disapproval, pressing on her skin. He was fully armed, hardsuit on, tense and angry. She'd asked him to be her second in command if need be, had given him comparable authority to Lawson's, such as she could with the Cerberus blocks in place in EDI's programming – she supposed that entitled him to his opinion. But that didn't mean she was going to let him blow the tank-bred's head off before she had a chance to talk to it. The door whooshed open on the engineering deck. Shepard jogged to the port cargo bay, Garrus on her heels. He paused at the door, touching her shoulder lightly as she reached for the lock holo.

“If you need me – ”

“You'll know, Garrus. One way or the other,” she said firmly. His eyes bored into hers. “Yes, _before_ I die.” He nodded.

“I'll be here.” He drew his assault rifle and held it low, at the ready. Shepard sighed.

“I'll be fine.”

“You better, Commander.” She smiled crookedly up at him.

“Don't worry so much about me. I already died once, and look at me now.” But Garrus's mandibles were tense, his eyes worried. He gripped her shoulder gingerly.

“Just call me, Shepard.”

“I will,” she said softly, meaning it. Garrus sighed.

“Good luck.” Shepard grinned.

“Don't need it. I have ammo.” The turian chuckled. “Just say 'break a leg.'” He cocked his head, birdlike.

“Break... a leg?”

“Look it up. It'll give you something to do while I'm making friends with this krogan.”

“Okay.” She nodded and punched the lock holo.

“See you soon.” Garrus's hands tightened around his gun in her peripheral vision as she stepped into the cargo bay.

“EDI, I'm letting him out,” she said.

 

* * *

* * *

 

 “All right, people. Joker's laid in a course for the Faia system. ETA 1030 tomorrow. Massani, you wanna fill us all in on the mission objectives?” Shepard stood with her fists braced on the conference room table. The rest of her team sat around it, waiting. Goto and Massani lounged in their seats; Lawson sat upright at Shepard's left hand, waiting; Taylor and Garrus were silent, attentive, datapads at the ready.

“Right. We're hitting the Blue Suns base on Zorya.” Zaeed keyed up a holo.

“Zorya is a garden world first settled in 2160; it is home to the primary base for the Blue Suns mercenary group,” EDI said.

“Yeah, yeah. Show it to us, then.” The holo obligingly zoomed in.

“Right,” Zaeed said. “They've got a good location here – a fifty-meter dropoff to the west, and bluffs all around, plus the compound is walled. Inside the walls we've got a fuel refinery to the west, and the Blue Suns facilities to the east. The main gate is to the south – that's the most obvious approach, it's where they take in shipments and all that shit, but the gate is at the end of a steep ravine, and it's a goddamn killing ground. Coming in from the south is a no-go – the Suns'll take us out before we even get close. But to the east, on top of the bluff – ” Massani dragged the holo to the right with a touch of his finger – “right _here,_ they've got a comm tower.”

“They have maintenance tunnels?” Garrus said.

“No, but there's an access road back to the compound.”

“Their access road is just _there,_ easy to find for any old strike team that drops on the eastern bluff?” Taylor asked, arms crossed. Zaeed spared him a contemptuous glance.

“Don't be goddamn stupid. The Suns have patrols out all around their base, even at the bottom of the western cliff, just to be sure. They're too paranoid to let anybody get anywhere near it. But patrols have patrol _routes_ , and routes mean there's paths through the jungle on this goddamn cesspit of a planet.”

“If we could find them...” Goto mused, fingers steepled at her lips.

“Exactly,” said Zaeed. “This approach is no good for a frontal assault, but they won't be expecting a small strike team, not with the primary Blue Suns garrison inside their walls. We'll find the trails, head for the comm tower, take out the power, and go down the access road and into the compound. From there, it's easy pickings.”

“I thought you just said the main Blue Suns garrison was in there,” Lawson said.

“Sure. But they won't be expecting an assault from the east, that's a service entrance. If we do this right, they'll see us land and send some people to check it out. We deal with them, then take out their long-range comms, and that's the last they hear about us til we hit the east gate. We can steal one of their vehicles, maybe even get them to let us in. They won't know where we are or how many; I'm betting they'll concentrate on trying to find us _outside_ the walls instead of putting heavy reinforcements on the gate.”

“That's a big gamble, Massani.”

“Last I checked, you weren't in command here, Lawson.” Zaeed looked up at Shepard, raising an eyebrow.

“You think we can take out the comm tower before they can send a clear report on our numbers and location?”

“The idiots have the power from their main system and the emergency generators running through the same junction box. Our resident thief here can probably just sneak in and shut it down before anyone even notices we're at the tower.” Massani smirked. “Like I said, easy pickings.”

“All right. Vakarian, Goto, Taylor, you're on the ground team. The four of us will go down and get this done.”

“Shepard, that's not – ”

“Did I ask for your opinion, Operative?” Shepard shot Lawson a glare that could have peeled paint. Miranda clenched her jaw.

“No, Commander.”

“Okay then. One last job, right, Massani? Then you're clear.”

“Then I'm all yours, Commander,” the older man said, those odd eyes glinting like ice in his dark face, steady with purpose.

“Good. Everybody know what they need to do?”

“I'm gonna need the comm frequencies to tap into, Shepard,” Garrus said.

“I'll brief you.” Massani met Garrus' eyes, then Kasumi's, with a little nod.

“Okay?” Shepard said.

“Okay.”

“We're all good, Shep.”

“Good. Dismissed.” The Commander thrust herself back from the table.

“See you tomorrow,” Garrus said. She nodded, then turned on her heel and headed for the door without a word.

 

* * *

 

Garrus was worried. He'd been aboard the Normandy for almost three weeks now, and the team Shepard was scraping together concerned him. Solus at least was reliable, but the Cerberus personnel... This Illusive Man was crazy, putting Lawson on the ship as Shepard's second in command. The Commander didn't trust her; Prof. Solus didn't trust her; Garrusdidn't trust her – as far as he could tell, the only people who viewed their XO with anything but wariness were her Cerberus underlings and Taylor. The atmosphere on the SR2 was tense, communication between Shepard's specialists limited to the barest necessities; the air was thick with secrets. This was no way to work. A solid team needed synergy, mutual trust and respect – holding each other at arms' length could only hamper their progress in fighting the Collectors. And there was something wrong with Shepard.

His certainty had only grown as the days went by: the Commander was not displaying a typical human response to stress or extreme conditions. She was tense, distractable, easily startled – her entire demeanor was precisely the opposite of what he'd come to expect from her. She clearly hated working with Cerberus; that much was normal. But Shepard had repeatedly told him that the mission took priority, and seemed driven to try to stop the Collectors – so why was she unwilling to work with most of her crew? On the SR1 she had known every one of her servicemen by name, had been friendly with the engineering team, and was always in and out of the med bay, checking on her people and keeping in touch with Dr. Chakwas. But this time she was almost never on the crew deck, hardly spoke to Joker, and avoided the med bay and her 2IC like the plague. If she wasn't in her cabin, she was either in the makeshift gym in the shuttle bay or on the bridge. Garrus doubted most of the crew had even spoken to her. This was no way to gather her people into a team. They were thirty-odd strangers on a spaceship, running the Illusive Man's errands. If he'd had to guess, Garrus would have said that Shepard was _afraid_ of most of her crew. It didn't make any sense.

The main battery door hissed open behind him, interrupting his reverie.

“Garrus, you got a minute?” Shepard stood in the doorway.  Her voice was almost ... tentative.

“Of course. I need a break anyway. Come on in.” Garrus locked his console and turned, leaning on it and folding his arms as Shepard settled herself wearily on a crate, bracing her elbows on her knees and leaning her chin into her clasped hands. She looked tired – but then, she always looked tired, these days, he thought.

“What's going on?” he asked. Shepard sighed.

“I just wanted to debrief. Things got a little hairy back there on Zorya yesterday. Do you have any thoughts on the mission?” Garrus frowned. Getting into the Blue Suns base had gone off without any unexpected hitches – Goto had been able to take out the comms while the rest of the ground team cleared the tower, which hadn't been heavily guarded, and they'd only run into one patrol on their way down the bluffs. Santiago had detailed fewer men than he'd expected to reinforce the side gate, actually. But when the refinery went up in flames...

“It would have gone better if Massani had told us the real objective from the start. His intel was good up until we got inside the compound, but after that, everything went to hell in a damn hurry.” Shepard nodded. “I wasn't happy leaving you alone with him to take on the Suns without us, Shepard. I know someone had to get the workers the hell out of there, but you didn't need me to do that. Taylor and Goto could have handled it on their own. Massani didn't get you killed this time, but after what he did down there – I think we're all expendable to him, when push comes to shove. We can't trust him.”

 “That mission was different, Garrus. Zaeed won't be in a situation like that again.”

“How do you know that? Who's to say we won't run into someone else who's pissed him off – ”

“He wasn't _angry_ at Santiago. It was more than that.” Garrus leaned back, skeptical. “What about you and your team back on Omega – what about Sidonis? In your position, I'd stop at nothing to get revenge.”

“Would you kill a building full of innocents for it? Put your entire team at risk? Your CO? I know _I_ wouldn't. I don't buy it.” But she was staring at the floor, mouth hidden behind her knuckles. The silence stretched between them, a gulf too wide to jump. “Would you, Shepard?” he said quietly.

“Some things are worth almost any price,” she said. Her voice was low, husky with suppressed emotion. Anger? Regret? Those downcast eyes gave nothing away.

“You don't really believe that.” Shepard sighed, rubbing her face with weary hands.

“No. No, I don't. But I understand it.”

“What could possibly justify mass murder? You can't avenge an attempted murder by committing a hundred more.” At last, she looked at him.

“Sometimes I forget how different our species are. Not just culturally, but physically, neurologically. Humans respond to trauma … badly.” But her eyes skittered away from his face as she spoke, scanning the room, quick, nervous. She was sitting perfectly still, Garrus saw, like a tiny creature trying and failing to hide.

“What do you mean?” She shook her head.

“I don't know. Ask Dr. Chakwas, or the Professor or something. It – maybe I don't know anything about your species, either. Maybe I'm wrong. Humans – when something really, really bad happens to us, it changes us. Permanently. It rewires our brains, and there's no way to put it all back again. Zaeed sees things … differently from you and I. You heard what he said. Every time he hears a gunshot, every time he closes his eyes … Santiago didn't just hurt him one time, thirty years ago. He's been with him ever since, pulling that trigger over and over again.” Her eyes were blank, fixed on the wall to Garrus's left. “Half a lifetime of torture. What Zaeed did on Zorya – there _is_ no one else who's done that to him. He won't pull a stunt like that again.”

“That doesn't make it okay, Shepard.”

“You're right, it doesn't. But it explains it. It explains a lot of things.” Garrus wasn't sure she was even talking about Massani anymore.

“Well, your team, your call. This is your ship. But I still don't trust him.”

“You don't have to,” Shepard said.

 

* * *

* * *

 

If Jack had been less of a raging bitch, Zaeed might have described her as a minx. She had that sexiness, deliberate and aloof, but there was nothing calm about her, nothing seductive. Her smirks were all bitter, sadistic satisfaction, her big eyes full of hate. No, she wasn't a minx at all. A viper, maybe – the hottest one in the entire goddamn galaxy. He poured her another shot.

“Thanks.” The purply lighting of the Obs Lounge turned her tattoos black and upped the contrast of Zaeed's own ink against his mid-brown skin. Jack curled her fingers around the glass, but didn't drink – just stared down into the whiskey with narrowed eyes. Zaeed tossed back his own with the ease of long practice, the liquor settling warmly in his belly, comforting, almost homey.

“What do you think of this mission? Goddamned crazy, eh?” Jack shrugged.

“They're paying me, giving me what I want. _Shepard's_ all right.”

“Just her then?” She gave him a sarcastic look.

“Who else am I supposed to like? That fucking bitch Miranda? The Cerberus crew? Fuck'em.”

“Fair.”

“Huh.” Jack sipped her shot. She was on her third or fourth now, and Zaeed had only just taken his second; that biotic metabolism was a hell of a thing, to keep her so sober. Idly, he wondered how much it would take to really get her drunk.

“There's the rest of the team though.”

“You're fishing. Knock it off.”

“It was a serious goddamn question. Don't be such a cunt.”

“ _I'm_ the cunt? On _this_ ship?”

“Yeah,” Zaeed said evenly.

“Asshole. Fine. I dunno. That krogan's fucking crazy. I like _him._ You talk to him yet?”

“Seen him in the hall. Doesn't go in much for saying hello, though.”

“He's an idiot. Gives a whole new meaning to the word 'manchild'. You should stop by sometime, hang out in his cargo bay. He's sweet in this weird mass-murderer kinda way.”

“Cute,” Zaeed said, his voice dry.  Jack snorted.

“Cuter than some other people I could name, fucknuts.”

“Like a little dog. You should put a collar on him, with a goddamn bell.”

“Now _that_ I wanna see.” She emptied her shot glass, drinking the whiskey down like it was apple juice.

“I like Goto. Top of her field. Damn fine equipment, too. Shepard oughta use _her_ supplier, not go through Cerberus channels.”

“Whatever. She's an uptight bitch. Fucking disapproves of me. Plus she's creepy. I bet she sneaks around all over the damn ship, spying on us in her fucking tech cloak.”

“You saying you wouldn't do it too if you could?”  Zaeed raised his eyebrows.

“Hell yeah I would. But that's different. That's me.”

“You're crazy.”

“Fuck off. Like you're _not_.” But she didn't get up and leave. Zaeed shook his head, refilling his own glass.

“Gimme that,” Jack said, holding out her hand for the bottle. He passed it to her without a word. “That fucking salarian's even crazier than you, Massani. Christ, at least you shut up sometimes. And that turian Shepard knows from before, Archangel or whatever. I dunno what the hell she sees in him. Dude's got a stick up his ass so big I can't believe he hasn't choked on it yet. Shit, what an asshole. Criminals, criminals, blah fucking blah.” Zaeed smirked.

“Well, they're paying him not to try executing us, aren't they. So there's no real need to kill him. Damn good sniper.” Jack rolled her eyes.

“Everybody on this ship's damn good at something, even if it's just being a fucking jackass.”

“You can attest to that, eh?”

“Eat shit, Massani. I could paint the wall with you if I felt like it.”

“You could _try.”_

“Maybe I will.” She never sounded happier than when she was threatening to kill someone, he thought, letting the silence stretch. Jack drank slowly, eyes distant.

“Weird goddamn atmosphere on this ship,” Zaeed said at length.

“Tense. Fucking ... there's no _connection_ . This isn't really a team, just a bunch of assholes sitting around in space shooting at shit. It's like Shepard isn't really ... Like she doesn't even wanna _be_ here.”

“Yeah.” It was Zaeed's turn to stare into his whiskey, searching for answers in a goddamn shot glass. “There's a lot we don't know. I get the sense she doesn't like Cerberus much.”

“You kidding? She fucking hates them.”

“So, you're the one with the security clearance, eh? I haven't bothered hacking their operation logs. What did they do?”

“I'll get back to you on that.” Zaeed grunted.

“This whole mission is a mess. Bad business with the Collectors taking colonies and all, but half our goddamn people hate each other, and I don't think Shepard trusts any of us. I've seen worse; at least we're all getting paid. Don't think I have to watch for anybody trying to shoot me in the back on this ship; not yet, anyway. But it's still a damn mess.” He shook his head.

“I dunno what the fuck Shepard thinks she's doing.”

“I don't think she's calling the shots. And she's goddamn pissed off about it, if I'm any judge.”

“You think we can do it though? Take down the Collectors?” Jack met his eyes for the first time all evening. Zaeed shrugged and sipped his whiskey, contemplative.

“Well, we've got a lot of good people. Bastards, maybe, but still good at their jobs. We're all professionals, one way or another. And most of what people say about Shepard is true, seems like. If these people can work together under fire, after a certain point there's just too much goddamn skill in the room for anyone to fuck things up. I've been on the ground with Shepard, and I don't often see someone make a mistake. But there's plenty of time for that to change, isn't there. So I guess we'll see.” Jack looked past him, her eyes on the distant stars framed by the window.

“Yeah. I guess we fucking will."

 

* * *

 

  _Sneak around the whole ship and spy on everyone with my tech cloak? Now_ there's _an idea. Thanks, Jack. I'll have to remember that one,_ Kasumi thought, smiling wryly. The trouble with sleeping in the room with the bar was that people were always dropping by your bedroom for a drink; she'd gotten sick of making small talk with the entire crew of the Normandy about twenty minutes after moving in. _But far be it for me to deprive people of their alcohol, and even further be it to find a better spot to read than right here on my bed._ A bug on the security camera in the hall pinged her omni-tool whenever it detected movement nearby, giving her plenty of time to activate her cloak before the door opened. If her company was boring, she could go back to her book, and if they were interesting? Well. You could learn a lot, listening to your shipmates get drunk.

It was an odd way to keep her finger on the pulse of the ship, but an effective one. Jack might be wrong about what Kasumi thought of her – the thief had nothing but respect for anyone who could vaporize her with the wave of a hand – but she was right about one thing: Shepard _didn't_ want to be here. She'd heard it from nearly everyone who made their way down to her bar, and she agreed. Zaeed was right, too. It was obvious that Shepard wasn't in charge of their mission, and nobody was happy about it, except the Illusive Man, presumably. Even Miranda was angry, or she had been the night before last, at least.

“I don't know what's going on with Shepard, but this is a disaster,” the slim biotic had fumed.

“It'll take time to earn her trust,” Jacob had said.

“Not if she doesn't _talk_ to us, dammit. How can we get her to trust us when she won't take us on missions, won't work with us, won't listen to us, won't do a damn thing? Christ.”

“She took me down to Zorya.”

“Yeah, and sent you off on a little side trip with Vakarian instead of keeping you with her.”

“She trusts Garrus, and we did good work down there. She'll listen to him.”

“I think the Illusive Man's going over my head, playing some game with Shepard I don't know about. It's _not_ helping this mission.”

“You don't think she's just dealing with Alchera and Lazarus still? It's only been a month since she woke up, Miranda. You talk to Chambers about it?”

“Chambers says PTSD is a distinct possibility, and if she's right, we might be in real trouble.”

“Shepard's been through plenty of traumatic shit in her day. She made N7 right after Akuze – you don't think she'll be able to pull herself together this time?”

“I don't know. But she's not herself, and it's been seriously detrimental to our efforts to build a cohesive team and take on the Collectors.”

“We've got a long way to go yet, Miranda. Give Shepard some time to get her bearings.”

“My job is to help her through this transition, provide support, keep her going. That's been my job all along, but she won't let me _work._ She's never been a good patient; I don't know what I expected.” Miranda had scowled into her drink.

“If the Lazarus Project was at all traumatic for Shepard, why _would_ she want to work with you?”

“You're right, I suppose. But I've been watching the surveillance logs, and she's not talking to _anyone.”_

“Even Garrus?”

“She was in the main battery a couple days ago, but she hardly sees Vakarian outside of missions and briefings. They eat together sometimes. _He_ doesn't trust me either.”

“Of course he doesn't. We're just gonna have to work to win them over. I mean, this is gonna be a process.”

“I just wish the Illusive Man would let me in on his damn scheme. It would make my job a hell of a lot easier.”

“You don't know if he's involved.”

“Yes, I do.”

“You have proof?”

“I don't need proof. I _know.”_ Miranda's face had been grim, her eyes flinty. _Hope I never get on_ her _bad side,_ Kasumi reflected. _She seems like a dangerous one._ But she suspected that Miranda was right about Shepard. The Normandy's XO was too smart to be ignored, and she knew Cerberus too well. The only question at this point was, what was the Illusive Man _doing?_ Kasumi had absolutely no idea. And neither did anyone else, it seemed. That little redheaded psychologist might have some insights, she mused. Maybe it was time to plan a bit of judicious B &E. Hacking Chambers' omni-tool and any personal terminal she kept in her things would be a bit of a nuisance – someone was always awake in Crew Quarters – but it might be worth it.

Kasumi glanced at the clock on her omni-tool. 0118 – most of A shift should be asleep by now, she thought. Chambers was probably safely in bed, and B shift should be at their posts for the most part; might as well go now. Jack and Zaeed had left nearly an hour ago, still sniping at each other. _You'd think Jack would go for someone younger, but they seem to get along all right._ Kasumi shook her head as she slipped out her door, smiling slightly. _I wonder if they'll start sleeping together, or just flirt for the whole mission. Well. Never short of gossip on the Normandy, I guess._ She padded down the hall to Crew Quarters, cloaked and keying up her standard decryption suite on her omni-tool. Not that anyone else would have considered it standard, of course, but it was what _she_ always started with. Kasumi preferred her software simple, elegant, and top-of-the-line. As a result, she wrote most of it herself.

She only had to wait a minute or two before the door to Crew Quarters slid open. Kasumi ducked in as Martinez headed off to the bathroom, rubbing his gritty eyes. He was a sweet guy, she thought, padding through the dimness toward Chambers' bed. Nice ass, too. Ah, here was Chambers, snoring softly into her pillow. Perfect. Kasumi reached for the init button on her decryption program.

“Ms. Goto, are you attempting to hack a crewmate's private files?” EDI inquired. Kasumi's head came up. The AI was speaking directly into her communicator, not over the intercom; Chambers didn't so much as twitch.

“EDI? How did – oh, never mind.” The thief kept her voice low, so as not to wake anyone.

“I have many options for keeping track of where the crew are on this ship. Under the circumstances, it is probably better that I not explain them to you. I must request that you refrain from any theft or illicit hacking on board the Normandy. The crew have a right to their privacy, yourself included. Also, if you intend to make use of Jack's suggestion to spy on the crew using your tech cloak, I will be forced to inform the Commander.” The door opened with a whirr as Martinez returned – EDI obligingly held it open for an additional second or so, giving Kasumi time to slip out into the hall. The human deactivated her tech cloak and scowled up at the nearest security camera.

“Right to our privacy from everyone but _you_ , you mean.”

“I am not permitted to hack into a crewman's private files, either.”

“Bet you don't give Miranda or Shepard this little talking-to when they read each others' email.”

“I cannot speak to the activities of commanding officers on board the Normandy, Ms. Goto.”

“Yeah, I bet you can't.” Kasumi trotted back to her room and sat down on the couch with a little huff of irritation.

“I hope this will be your only attempt at data theft.” EDI's tone was as pleasant and courteous as ever. Kasumi rolled her eyes.

“Yes, EDI. I'll be a good little soldier from now on, I promise.”

“I doubt that.”

“Of course you do.”

“I will be interested to see the extent to which you are able to evade my detection aboard the Normandy. Please be aware, however, that if you continue to attempt to steal from your crewmates, I will have to report you to the Commander.”

“I'll keep that in mind.”

“I am sure you will, Ms. Goto.” Kasumi cocked an eye at the listening device she'd found embedded in the wall beside her bed.

“EDI, are you making _fun_ of me?”

“I do not possess a sense of humor.”

“That wasn't the question.”

“I am merely trying to provide you with relevant information.”

“Cerberus built a _smartass_ talking spaceship? Their software is better than I thought.”

“Will you require anything else tonight, Ms. Goto?”

“If I think of anything, I'll let you know.”

“Very well. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, EDI,” Kasumi replied, shaking her head. This was going to be more of a challenge than she'd expected, but avoiding detection by the Normandy's AI was certainly a problem worth solving. _Nice to have something to do in my spare time, I guess._ Tongue between her teeth, she pulled up the screen on her omni-tool and got to work.


End file.
